Monica On Her Own
by Richard Lawson
Summary: A young woman takes over her grandmother's apartment and struggles to find a place for herself in the city. Chapter 35: Monica and Vegetable Pate now up.
1. Monica and Nana

Hands clasped behind her head, Monica Geller touched her elbows to her knees and then let her head fall further forward until it was hanging between them. She was breathing heavily and it felt good. Very good. It had taken her weeks to reach this point, but once she'd achieved it she never wanted to be without it.  
  
Unfortunately the feeling couldn't last. Blindly she felt on the floor for a towel, and when she found it she lifted her head and mopped the sweat off. Monica stood up and waited for her heartbeat to slow down, which it did in very short order. It used to be that a walk up the stairs would leave her short of breath for a minute or two. Not any more.  
  
Monica opened the door to her bedroom and walked out into the living room. Her eyes automatically fell on the boxes that lay here and there. They were - very slowly - being filled with the trinkets of a lifetime. The disorderly appearance they gave to the apartment grated on Monica, but she said nothing. She couldn't, not ever.  
  
The refrigerator door closed and Monica looked over at a woman, about her height but much older. The woman seemed born with an innate frown that always made Monica feel uncomfortable whenever it was sent in her direction. "Hello, dear," the woman said. "I'm making a kohlrabi salad, would you like some?"  
  
"No thank you, Nana. I'm going to take a shower."  
  
"Ah." Nana pierced Monica with her gaze. "Don't you think all that exercise is unhealthy?"  
  
Monica suppressed an annoyed sigh; this was a familiar subject. "It's what's keeping me healthy, Nana."  
  
"It's wonderful you're so thin, but you need not be so... narcissistic about it."  
  
"I'm not, Nana." Monica walked into the bathroom and closed the door before any more of Nana's disapproval could show through. She looked at herself in the mirror. What struck her most about the changes to her body was how different her face looked. The cheeks were almost gaunt by comparison, and her eyes didn't seem quite so sunken in. Her new face was more angular, sharp. But not necessarily more attractive.  
  
Narcissism? Nana needn't worry about that. Monica's face has simply gone from flabby to bony.  
  
Shaking herself, Monica took a shower. The hot water had a calming effect and she stepped out feeling a little better about the world. She went back to her bedroom and changed into her work clothes, although she wouldn't have to leave for a while yet.  
  
Monica went back into the living room, saw that Nana was still nibbling at her salad, and eyed the boxes one more time. She began packing some things away, carefully wrapping them. She took her time but still did this much faster than Nana did, since she would often stare at each piece for several minutes, lost in some memory.  
  
"So, Monica. Will you be moving back with your mother and father?"  
  
"No." That came out a little more firmly than Monica had expected. She made an effort to speak more calmly. "I might stay with Ross and Carol for a while, until I can find my own place."  
  
"Their apartment is so small," Nana commented dryly.  
  
Like you've ever spent much time there. Monica kept the comment to herself. Nana had never approved of Ross getting married so young. The fact that Nana had herself been married at twenty didn't seem to factor into things. "I'll be fine, it'll just be for a little while until I can find a place I can afford."  
  
"Hmm." Nana stood up, began cleaning up. "How much could you afford?"  
  
That was a good question. Apartments in Manhattan were incredibly expensive. "I'm seeing what I could get by with."  
  
"Could you afford nine hundred a month? Plus expenses?"  
  
"That's... that's a little more than I was hoping for." A lot more, actually.  
  
"But could you do it?"  
  
Monica stopped packing and considered. She didn't make a lot as an assistant chef at Iridium. If she cut down on every expense, worked a few extra hours... "Yeah, I probably could. Why, do you have a place in mind?"  
  
"Well," Nana said while washing her dishes in the sink, "I was thinking that I haven't informed the building owners that I'm moving to Florida, and what they don't know won't hurt them."  
  
Monica's eyes widened. "You mean... here?"  
  
"Of course I mean here." Nana was now drying off the dishes, still with her back to Monica. "This was my home for many years and I'd rather it stay with family."  
  
Monica didn't dare breathe. Her eyes darted around the apartment - the huge living room, the two bedrooms, the wonderful kitchen. Once Nana ended her lease, the building owners would surely charge three or four times as much to the next renters. "You... you sure, Nana?"  
  
"Of course I am." Nana turned around, and while she wasn't smiling, her expression was a lot less severe than usual. "I'll feel better knowing that you have a good place to stay. I know how important it is to have a good home of your own, and I think you need that. So please, allow an old woman to indulge her granddaughter."  
  
Monica smiled and walked over to Nana. "Thank you." She hugged her gently.  
  
"You're welcome." Nana patted the back of Monica's head. "Now, get to work. You don't want to be late."  
  
"Okay, Nana." Monica released the hug, and quickly grabbed her coat. She actually had plenty of time but understood that emotional displays made Nana uncomfortable. Best to allow her some privacy, especially after she had been so generous. Nana was a difficult woman to figure out; usually she was distant and cold, but she was also capable of tremendous kindness, like allowing Monica to live with her when she found a job in the city.  
  
Like giving her an apartment of her own. The very thought sent a tingle through her.  
  
Monica walked out the door, stopping slightly at the sight of a large man staring at the door opposite. Bemused, Monica stepped beside him to examine it with him. "I don't think anyone's home, Mr. Treeger."  
  
Treeger grunted. "The number's wrong."  
  
Monica blinked. "It's always been apartment four."  
  
"But it's on the second floor. Confuses the hell out of everyone. Think I'll talk to the building owners about renumbering these things."  
  
Monica shuddered at what that implied about the huge number of change-of-address notifications she'd have to send out. Hopefully the owners would realize that, too. "Well, I'm off to work. See you later."  
  
"Wait, I want to talk to you." Treeger turned to face her. "You're Monica Geller, right?"  
  
"Um, yeah." She suddenly felt a little uneasy. "Why?"  
  
"Some guy used you as a reference. Bing."  
  
I just don't want to be stuck here all night with your fat sister. Monica took a deep breath, surprised at how much that hurt even after all this time. And yet, it was Monica who had told Ross about the vacancy to help Chandler with his apartment search. "He was my brother's roommate in college. He always struck me as very dependable."  
  
"College, huh? Does he have a job now?"  
  
Monica floundered for a bit, trying to remember everything Ross had told her. "I, I think he's got a temp job at the moment." Oops, should have just said yes. Too late now. "And his mother is Nora Tyler Bing, you know, the author? He should never have a problem with money."  
  
Treeger nodded. "Is he a crazy guy? Lots of loud parties, any of that sort of thing?"  
  
"Oh no," Monica said easily. "Very low-key. I wouldn't mind having him as a neighbor."  
  
Treeger grunted. "Huh. Okay, thanks. I'll let the owners know."  
  
"Great." Monica smiled her goodbye and walked out of the building, feeling a little flustered. The truth was, having Chandler live across the hall would be very strange. There was a history between them that made her feel very uncomfortable. But then again, she'd never have to see him really. Just pass him in the hallway, say hello, nothing more. She could handle that.  
  
Hopefully.  
  
Shaking those thoughts out of her mind, Monica headed towards the restaurant. If she was going to keep this new apartment of hers, she'd have to make sure she also kept her job. A grin found its way to her face. Her apartment. Monica's apartment. That sounded wonderful.

* * *

(to be continued)

Author's Notes: I anticipate this to be an open-ended story detailing the pre-series era. It will be entirely from Monica's perspective. I've got lots written in my head but I have no idea how long it will go. For the next few days, anyway, expect frequent updates.


	2. Monica and her Sister in Law

"Well, here are the keys." Nana pressed them into Monica's hand, her eyes still darting around the living room. "I'll call you when I get to Florida."  
  
"All right." Monica reached out and hugged Nana gently. "Have a safe trip. Thanks for letting me stay here."  
  
"You're welcome." Nana stepped back, a fragile smile on her face. "Enjoy this time of your life, my dear. Nature's first green is gold, her hardest hue to hold. No matter what anyone says about old age, these are your golden years, Monica. I so envy you for the journey you're about to undertake."  
  
Monica blinked, unsure how to react to that. She grasped for graciousness. "Uh, thank you for giving me this chance to enjoy them, Nana. This apartment is wonderful, I know I'm going to have fun here."  
  
"Good, I'm glad to hear that." After one last look around the apartment, Nana turned and left for the cab that awaited her downstairs.  
  
Monica closed the apartment door and looked around the living room. Quite sparse now that Nana was gone. She'd have to get some more furniture. She'd need a couch first. And another chair. Or two.  
  
Slowly, Monica walked out into the middle of the living room, looking around, taking it all in. This was her place. This was her apartment. Grinning, she walked over to the bay window and gazed outside, taking in her view.  
  
Her eyes drifted to the open window of an apartment across from hers. A man walked past the window, and Monica's eyes bugged out. Oh my God, didn't he know everyone could see him? Monica shut her eyes and turned away. Stupid people trying to spoil her good mood.  
  
She flounced over to the kitchen. The phone was on the counter and she picked it up, her fingers hovering over the numbers. Who to call? Ross was at work, and Monica really didn't know too many people in the city. Brightening, she opened her address book, found a number, and dialed it. It was picked up almost right away.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Rachel, hi!"  
  
"Monica? Oh my God, hi! Oh, it's been so long."  
  
Far too long. "So, how's it going with you and Chip?"  
  
"Chip? Oh my goodness, we broke up ages and ages ago. I'm dating an orthodontist now."  
  
"Oh." Monica couldn't help smiling. "So he's rich?"  
  
"Oh Monica, you should see the car he drives."  
  
"Is he good looking?"  
  
"Uh, it's a Porsche, you'd love it."  
  
Well. Rachel hadn't changed much; her priorities had remained exactly as Monica had remembered them. Which perhaps explained why well-connected social-climber Rachel hadn't really tried very hard to stay in contact with frumpy middle-class Monica who worked as a chef and lived with her grandmother. "So, I have my own apartment now."  
  
"Oh? That, that's great! Where?"  
  
Rachel's enthusiasm was painfully forced. Of course Rachel would rather die than live anywhere else but a beautifully-appointed house in a suburb. Monica was feeling more and more like this phone call had been a mistake. "Actually, my grandmother moved to Florida so I took over her place. Do you remember? We spent a week here during the summer in the eighth grade."  
  
"Oh yes, it had the lovely bay window."  
  
"Yes, that's the one."  
  
"Well, isn't that fantastic! I, I should hold a housewarming party for you."  
  
Monica waited a few seconds but Rachel didn't pursue the thought. Time to bring this all to a close. "Well, I have to get ready for work soon. Listen, if you're ever in the city, stop by and say hi."  
  
"I will!" Monica could detect a hint of relief in Rachel's voice; she was equally eager to end the phone call. "And look me up when you visit your parents."  
  
"Okay. Good-bye, Rachel."  
  
"Bye, Monica."  
  
The line went dead. Monica hung up the phone, her good mood thoroughly dissipated. Rachel had been her best friend for so long, nearly her only friend. Somehow they had managed to grow so far apart so quickly. Something had changed, and Monica wasn't sure who had changed and whether it was a good thing or not.  
  
Monica grabbed her jacket and headed outside. She desperately needed to see a friendly face, and there was only one place she knew to go. 

* * *

The door opened and a woman with shoulder-length blonde hair smiled widely. "Why, hello Monica. It's good to see you."  
  
Monica laughed. "That's actually the words I most needed to hear. Mind if I come in for a minute?"  
  
"Sure. My husband won't be home for an hour, though."  
  
"That's all right." Monica stepped inside, looked around the apartment. "You have such wonderful taste in decorating, Carol, did I ever tell you?"  
  
Carol closed the door. "Thank you. We should decorate your place now, shouldn't we? You need some new furniture."  
  
"Actually, I need used and very cheap furniture." Monica sat on the couch. "I'm going to be using just about every penny just to pay the rent."  
  
Carol sat next to her, an easy smile on her face. "Oh, I know what that's like. Ross and I had trouble making ends meet until he got his job at the museum. His mother actually helped us with some furniture."  
  
"Of course she would." Monica snapped her mouth shut, not wanting to involve Carol in unnecessary family squabbling. "If I asked my mother to buy me some furniture, she'd want to buy things that suited her taste rather than mine. I definitely don't want that."  
  
"I guess I understand." Carol reached over, clasped Monica's hand. "Have you considered a roommate? That would help you cover expenses."  
  
Monica blinked. "Actually, I hadn't. My grandmother just moved out today. I, I think I want to be by myself for a bit first."  
  
"Good, that's good." Carol's smile dimmed. "Sometimes being by yourself can be a blessing."  
  
That sounded odd. Monica frowned slightly. "Is... is everything all right?"  
  
"Oh?" Carol seemed to shake herself. "It's fine, it really is. Did Ross tell you about his family plans?"  
  
"No, but I can guess." Monica grinned. "He wants you two to start having babies?"  
  
"Well, I'd be the one having them, but yeah. I told him it's a bit too early for that." Carol smirked. "He's doing his best to be persuasive."  
  
Monica laughed. "Which means he's annoying the hell out of you?"  
  
Carol chuckled. "It's good to talk to someone who understands Ross."  
  
"He's very sweet, he just gets... fixated sometimes."  
  
"Yes, well, I can deal with him. I haven't established my practice yet, that comes first."  
  
"Of course." Monica sighed, feeling comfortable. Ross's wife was a kind person, very easy to talk to. Monica would have to make an effort to come over and talk to her more often.  
  
The sound of keys in the lock made Carol look up. Monica found herself still looking at Carol as the door opened. The light seemed to drain from her face. It became cold and expressionless as Ross said, "Hi! I'm home early."  
  
Monica looked up to see her brother holding a bouquet of roses. His eyes met hers. "Hey, Mon. Did Nana get away all right?"  
  
"Yes. She said she'd call when she got down to Florida."  
  
"Good." Ross looked back over at Carol, who hadn't moved from the couch. He held out the roses. "These are for you."  
  
"Well, I'm glad they're not for your sister." Carol released Monica's hand and stood up. Monica found herself carefully watching Carol's face, and to her eyes it looked as if the smile Carol gave Ross was completely forced. "Thank you, they're beautiful."  
  
"Not half as beautiful as you." Ross leaned in.  
  
Carol leaned slightly back but then let Ross kiss her. She quickly released the kiss and took the flowers. "Let me put these in some water." She turned and went into the kitchen.  
  
Ross looked after her, looking slightly forlorn, and Monica felt entirely out of place. Whatever was happening between Carol and Ross, Monica's presence wasn't going to help matters. She stood up and told the same lie for the second time that day. "Well, I have to go and get ready for work. Stop by sometime, Ross, if you ever want to see how it looks now."  
  
"Uh, sure." Ross wasn't even looking at her, still fixing his eyes on Carol as she arranged the flowers in a vase.  
  
Carol looked over at Monica and smiled. "It was good to see you, stop by again."  
  
Monica smiled politely in return. "Goodbye." She fled the apartment.  
  
The late-afternoon air had a definite chill and Monica hugged herself as she made her way back home. That wasn't the first time she'd seen Ross and Carol involved in some problem but it was the first hint she'd gotten of how serious it was. Hopefully they'd work it out. They'd both looked so happy at the wedding.  
  
Monica sighed heavily. Yet another example of how life was determined to keep her unhappy. This was supposed to be a good day for her - a chance to be truly independent. Instead she was discovering there was a fine line between being independent and being alone without help.  
  
With a monumental effort Monica fought off the depression that threatened to overwhelm. She broke into a brisk jog, deciding to eschew the subway ride home. She just needed to recapture the euphoria of heavy exercise and not worry about everything else. For now.  
  
Increasing her pace, Monica sprinted back towards her apartment.

* * *

(to be continued)

Author's Notes: This will likely be Rachel's only appearance, as I can't really include her without major continuity problems with the show. I may have her make a few phone cameos despite that, since I like writing about Rachel. ) We'll see; I'm still debating that in my head.


	3. Monica and her New Neighbor

Monica woke grumpily. On work days she normally slept until noon, then got up and did whatever in the afternoon before heading to work at four. She peered blearily at the clock and discovered it was only ten. Which meant something had woken her.  
  
A muffled crash and exclamation gave her a good hint. Throwing back the covers, Monica got out of bed, threw on a robe, and stormed towards the front door.  
  
She flung it open to the sight of chaos. The door opposite was open and the apartment beyond was half-full of cardboard boxes, but no people.  
  
A quiet curse made her look down the hallway towards the stairs. A man was leaning over a box on the landing, shaking his hand. With a sigh he grabbed the box and straightened to a respectable six-foot height. His eyes saw her and Monica felt something like a physical shockwave hit the both of them. Beyond all ability to control, her eyes moved down to his foot and back up again, and she found herself blushing slightly. "Hey Chandler."  
  
"Hi Monica." He looked over at the door she had just opened. "So you live across the hall, huh?"  
  
"Uh, yeah. So, so you're moving in, huh?"  
  
"No, I just want some place to store my furniture while I live out my dream of hiking to Chile."  
  
"Oh, hah. Better, better get started." Oh my God, this was almost physically painful. Monica found her mind spinning in circles frantically searching for something to say.  
  
"Yeah. Guess I better." The box nearly slipped from his hands and he clutched it convulsively.  
  
Monica ran up to grab the box before it fell. "Here, let me."  
  
She took it from him and it was heavy, most likely filled with books. Monica adjusted her grip slightly and carried it into the apartment. She set it down to the side and blew out a breath. She eyed the apartment and found that it was much smaller than hers, with a kitchen not nearly as nice and no view to speak of out of the small windows. Still, it was a reasonably-priced apartment in the city, which Chandler probably appreciated.  
  
Monica turned and saw him standing in the doorway, an expression of surprise on his face. "Wow. You're the strongest woman I've ever met that didn't work at the circus."  
  
Despite herself, Monica smiled. Same Chandler, with the never-ending attempts at wit. "Give me a few hours a week and I could get you into shape, too."  
  
Chandler looked at his naked wrist and shook his head. "Can't, Andy Griffith is on. That Opie, he's quite a card."  
  
"Hah." Monica walked towards him and he stepped aside so she could leave. "Let me know if you need any help."  
  
"Sure thing. But I already have some help."  
  
Movement down the hall turned Monica's head. A man was carrying another large box down. Tall, broad shoulders, a thin frame that didn't have much muscle but wasn't flabby either. His hair and eyes were dark brown, almost black. When he spoke, his voice was well-modulated and sounded intelligent. "Hello."  
  
"Uh hi. Hello. Hi." She had no makeup on, she hadn't taken a shower or even combed her hair, she was dressed in a stupid bathrobe of all things. A blush began at the bottom of her neck and began creeping upwards at an alarming rate. "Muh... muh... Monica!" Oh my God, how lame could she possibly make herself sound?  
  
The tall man set down the box and stretched out a hand. "Kip."  
  
"Kip." His grip was strong. "Hi Kip. Are you, are you Chandler's?"  
  
"I'm his roommate, yes. Do you live in the building?"  
  
"Yup, uh huh." With regret Monica released his hand and pointed. "There, right there, you need anything ever, you knock, or just come on in, I live alone." Babbling, she was actually babbling. At what point had she turned sixteen again?  
  
"Thank you." Kip smiled again, then bent down and lifted the box, affording Monica a generous view of his not-unpleasant-looking backside. Monica followed it all the way until it disappeared inside the apartment.  
  
Suddenly she realized Chandler was still there. Monica looked over at him and attempted some kind of recovery. "You, you too, Chandler. Let me know if you need something."  
  
"Sure." Chandler looked much more subdued. He gave her a half-smile, then trudged back down the hallway, probably to retrieve more boxes.  
  
Monica dawdled a bit but Kip remained inside, ripping open boxes from the sound of it. With a sigh Monica went back into her apartment. She closed the door and leaned against it, considering her next step. Cookies, that would be good, everyone liked cookies. After a shower. Maybe she should shave her legs, too.  
  
Grinning, Monica got an early start to the day.

* * *

Almost timidly, Monica knocked on the door. A few seconds later it was opened, and Chandler raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Hi Monica."  
  
"Hi." She lifted the tray she was holding. "I brought cookies."  
  
"Wow, thanks." Chandler stood back and Monica entered. Her eyes darted around but she saw no signs of Kip. What she did see was lots of boxes, some of them still unopened, and a few pieces of furniture which didn't seem to go together.  
  
Chandler, in the meantime, had moved over to the kitchen and was digging through a box. "I've got cups here somewhere, and I can make a mean glass of milk to go along with those nummy cookies."  
  
Monica shuddered slightly. Cups directly out of a moving box? "Why, why don't you and Kip come over to my place to eat them?"  
  
Chandler straightened. "Kip's at work, but I'll come over."  
  
Darnit, not what she had in mind. "Okay, this way."  
  
She led him to her apartment. He looked around and nodded appreciatively. "This is nice, very nice. How much you paying?"  
  
"Uh, not as much as you I'm sure." She set the cookies on the kitchen table and motioned for him to sit. "It's in my grandmother's name, so don't tell anyone she doesn't actually live here anymore."  
  
"Mum's the word." Chandler took a cookie and began nibbling on it.  
  
Monica grabbed milk from the refrigerator. "So why's that whole place still a mess? You moved in three days ago."  
  
"Well, it's a long and difficult process of arranging things just so. We could be at it for months."  
  
Monica felt an itch on the back of her head at the thought of all that mess. "If you need any help arranging that stuff, let me know, I'll be glad to help."  
  
"Thanks." Chandler accepted the glass she handed him. "This is a very good cookie. You should be a chef."  
  
Monica grinned. "I am."  
  
"Really?" Chandler laughed. "Well, I can see why. Er, taste why."  
  
Monica poured herself a glass and sat down. "So what do you do?"  
  
Chandler waved off the question. "Some stupid processing stuff, it's only a temp job. It's just to hold me over until I can find a writing gig."  
  
"Oh, you're a writer? I didn't know that's what you studied in college."  
  
"I actually studied Medieval Literature and Advanced Girl Repelling. Nothing scares women off like quoting the Morte d'Arthur at them."  
  
Monica laughed and took a bite of cookie. This hadn't been nearly as awkward as she'd thought. She sipped her milk and looked over at Chandler and found herself blurting out, "I'm sorry about your toe."  
  
Chandler gave her a quizzical look. "That was years ago. You've apologized to me like a thousand times."  
  
"I know, I know." Monica felt her face beginning to burn and heard her voice beginning to rise in register. "I just... every time I see you I feel guilty."  
  
Chandler took a big bite of his cookie while studying Monica. After a few seconds of chewing and swallowing, he put the cookie down, clasped his hands together, and leaned forward. "Look, that's all in the past, okay? Let's agree not to talk about it any more. I can just be the cool, witty, sexy guy that moved in across the hall." He paused. "Or I can just be the guy that moved in across the hall."  
  
Almost despite herself, Monica smiled.  
  
Chandler smiled back. "Point is, let's start over, all right? I'd hate to think that some stupid toe thing is getting in the way of my ability to eat more of these cookies." He picked his half-eaten cookie back up and showed it to her.  
  
Monica laughed. "All right, deal."  
  
After a single firm nod, Chandler took another bite out of the cookie.  
  
The intercom buzzed. Mildly annoyed, Monica got up and answered it. "Yes?"  
  
"Hey, it's me." Ross.  
  
Monica pushed the button that would allow the building door to open. She walked back over to the kitchen table, where Chandler was now lounging in the chair, a new cookie in his hand. Monica found her eyes tracking where crumbs could potentially fall, ready to pounce if he moved the cookie over the floor.  
  
There was a knock on the door. Monica didn't turn around as she called out, "It's open!"  
  
A second later Ross was inside. "Hi Mon. Hi Chandler, I was actually looking for you."  
  
"Hey man." Chandler stood up, cookie in hand. "Wanna see the new place?"  
  
"Sure." Ross spied the cookies and grabbed one before following Chandler out the door. Monica trailed behind, her fingers twitching. Chandler she could almost forgive, but Ross should know better. Now she'd have to sweep the whole floor again.  
  
Chandler had begun some kind of monologue in his apartment. "So see, this is the kitchen, which you always want right by the front door in case you want to open up a sandwich shop in the hallway. This area right here is currently the box staging area, although we hope it might be a kind of living room some day. Bathroom is conveniently located here, and if you stretch out both arms you can touch each of the opposite walls. There and there are the bedrooms, with a lovely view of the building six feet away. The décor is Contemporary Sloppy, which we hope to update to Neo-Laziness in a few weeks."  
  
Ross chuckled. Monica looked through the boxes on the kitchen counter and began pulling out plates.  
  
Chandler seemed surprised by her presence. "You, you don't need to do that."  
  
"Actually, she does," Ross said with a smile. "If I wanted my bedroom cleaned I'd just lock Monica inside, and she'd shout and yell and then straighten everything up."  
  
"Then when he unlocked the door I'd beat the snot out of him." With an effort, Monica stepped away from the boxes. "I'm sorry, I just don't like... messy things."  
  
"That's an admirable trait." Chandler grinned. "Mind if I lock you into the apartment for a day or two?"  
  
Monica smiled. "No. Mind if I punch you in the stomach?"  
  
"Er, maybe I'll unpack these myself." Chandler walked past her, put the plates she had unpacked into a cupboard.  
  
Ross was poking his head into the bedroom. "So who's your roommate?"  
  
"Guy named Kip. Met him at one of those roommate matching services. He's some sort of medical technician. Don't know a lot about him, really."  
  
"When's he get off work?" Monica found herself asking.  
  
"Let me check his schedule." Chandler reached into a box, pulled out a Magna Doodle. He lifted the plastic pen and tapped the surface of the Magna Doodle a few times, then stared thoughtfully at the dots he had created. "Hmm, says here anytime between five and midnight."  
  
Monica felt something between amusement and irritation at these antics. "Well, when he comes back, bring him over for dinner, I'll make something. Will you stay, Ross?"  
  
Ross shrugged. "Let me check with Carol, but sure."  
  
"Great." Monica walked back towards her apartment, already debating menu items. "Just let me know."  
  
"Thank you for the cookies, Monica."  
  
She turned her head over her shoulder. Chandler was smiling, and idly she noted that he really didn't look half-bad like that. "You're welcome. You should wash those plates before you use them, you know."  
  
"Are you kidding? I don't even wash them _after_ I use them."  
  
Ugh. "I'll plan on serving at six, let me know if it will be later."  
  
Monica stepped across the hall and into her apartment. Already the anticipation was growing. She loved making food for people, and she was greatly looking forward to seeing Kip again. The evening promised to be interesting.  
  
Monica opened the refrigerator and began to gather the ingredients.

* * *

(to be continued)


	4. Monica and her Brother

Monica put the dish on the table. "Enjoy."  
  
Ross frowned and poked at the top with his fork. "What is it?"  
  
"Just a noodle casserole basically." With some other ingredients; Monica had been experimenting a bit lately.  
  
"Smells good," Chandler observed as he began scooping some of it onto his plate.  
  
"Indeed it does. You're a very good cook, Monica."  
  
The words made her feel very warm. Monica smiled at Kip, who smiled back before helping himself to the casserole as well.  
  
Ross shrugged his shoulders and took some as well. "This isn't going to be like the time you added cayenne pepper to the broccoli cheese sauce, is it?"  
  
Monica gritted her teeth. That had been a very early failed experiment, and there had been precious few since then. Trust Ross to bring it up at a moment like this. "Shut up and eat it, Ross."  
  
"Yeah, that's a convincing argument." Still, Ross did in fact take a forkful and put it in his mouth.  
  
When there was no immediate complaint, Monica served herself. She took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. Not bad, texture could be better, perhaps a tad less sour cream.  
  
"So Monica," Kip said. "What is it that you do for a living?"  
  
Monica swallowed hastily. "I'm a chef. I work at a restaurant called Iridium."  
  
"Oh! No wonder this is so delicious." Kip grinned easily.  
  
Monica found herself almost giggling in response. Kip was dressed in a tee-shirt and jeans, and while his body wasn't particularly well-defined, he had a relatively flat stomach, which was good enough for Monica. And he had those dreamy eyes, the kind she could get lost in, hidden hints of lighter brown mixed in with the almost-black...  
  
A nudge on her arm from Ross made her realize she was staring. Hastily she scooped up more of the casserole and began chewing. Desperately she cast about for a topic change. "So what's Carol up to?"  
  
"Out book shopping," Ross said with just a hint of wistfulness. "She does that a lot. She can spend hours there."  
  
"I can do that, too," Chandler said somewhat obliviously. "Sometimes I read a whole chapter before deciding to buy a book. Which can be a problem on books like War and Peace."  
  
Monica cocked her head at Ross and gently asked, "Does she seem to be spending more time at the bookstore lately?"  
  
Ross glumly nodded. "I don't know... it's... she used to not mind spending time with me."  
  
Chandler frowned. "I can't believe it's serious. You guys were so hot for each other. Remember the night you did it five times?"  
  
"Five times?" Kip said incredulously. "That's impossible."  
  
Chandler grinned and clapped Ross on the shoulder. "Not for the Rosster."  
  
Ross managed a grin. "Yeah, that was pretty cool."  
  
"Well, those are details I didn't need to know," Monica said testily. She stood up and began clearing the dishes.  
  
Kip stood up as well. "Thanks for dinner, Monica, that was great."  
  
She smiled up at him. "Any time. I mean that, just let me know and I'll fix something."  
  
"Don't you usually work evenings?" Ross asked from where he was still sitting at the table.  
  
Monica paused. That was true, and it was only going to get worse as she worked extra shifts to try and pay for the apartment. "Uh, how about breakfast then? Pop on over and I'll whip something up."  
  
"But," Ross continued relentlessly, "you don't usually get up until noon or so, isn't that right?"  
  
"What are you, my secretary?" Monica exploded. "I can get up and fix him something and go back to sleep, can't I, Mr. I-Can-Manage-Monica's-Schedule-Better-Than-She-Can!"  
  
Ross shrugged it off. "If disrupting your sleep cycle is what you want to do, I'm not going to interfere. But you know, REM sleep is very important."  
  
She clenched her fist and made a huge effort to force it to relax. One of these days she was going to become an only child. She turned to Kip, trying to put the smile back on her face. "I mean it, though. I have orange juice and coffee, and I can make anything else you like."  
  
Kip had been frowning at the exchange between Monica and Ross but he managed a smile now. "You know, I just might take you up on that. All we have in our refrigerator is a bottle opener."  
  
"We're hoping the cold will encourage it to form a colony of missing cutlery from around the world," Chandler said faintly.  
  
Monica blinked at him, realizing that she was fawning all over Kip and had completely ignored him. "You, you too, Chandler. Stop by for breakfast any time you want."  
  
"Yeah, thanks." He took a breath. "Well, must see if the elves have finished assembling my bed yet." Chandler waved and left the apartment, Kip following in his wake.  
  
Ross stood up and began helping her clean up. "So," he said conversationally, "you have the hots for Kip, huh?"  
  
"So," she said in a somewhat acerbic tone, "you and Carol are having problems, huh?"  
  
Ross nodded without malice. "Point taken."  
  
He helped Monica just enough to annoy her; she then shoved him out of the kitchen while she finished up. To her surprise he didn't leave, instead walking around the apartment. "Looks different without Nana's stuff."  
  
"Well, it's not Nana's apartment any more."  
  
"I know, but still. Any plans for the empty room?"  
  
"Keep it empty."  
  
"Ah. Does that mean you're going to get a roommate?"  
  
"It means it'll stay empty until I decide it won't be empty."  
  
"You should get a couch."  
  
"You should stop bothering me."  
  
"I can help you with that."  
  
"By shutting up?"  
  
"By buying you a couch."  
  
Monica stopped in mid-dish and turned to face Ross. "Why would you buy me a couch?"  
  
Ross shrugged. "So people would have a place to sit."  
  
"What do you want in return?"  
  
"Nothing. Can't I just do something nice for you?"  
  
"It would be a first." She didn't really mean that, so she turned backed towards the sink and continued washing. "I don't want your charity, Ross. I can get my own couch."  
  
"Well, okay, how about this: I hate going home sometimes and it's empty and Carol's not there. She won't be there for hours and I sit and stare at the television. So, so maybe instead I can come over here and sit on your couch. If you had one."  
  
Monica thoughtfully rinsed out a cup. "And do what, exactly?"  
  
"Probably sit and stare at your television."  
  
"Why would that be different from what you're doing now?"  
  
"Someone would be here while I was doing it."  
  
Monica sighed. "I work most nights, Ross, you know that."  
  
"Well, maybe I could invite Chandler over, too."  
  
"And Kip?"  
  
"And Kip. You got the hots for him, huh?"  
  
"Suddenly I'm not seeing a couch in my near future."  
  
"Okay, sorry. And maybe we can all hang out on the days you're not working, too."  
  
Monica shut off the faucet. "Well, if a couch were to suddenly appear in my living room, I wouldn't throw it out."  
  
"Cool."  
  
"Here." Monica walked over to her utility drawer, pulled it open, pulled out the spare keys. "You'll need these. That way you can stop bothering me with that annoying intercom sound."  
  
She tossed the keys across the room and Ross caught them. He looked at her with an odd expression, like he didn't know how to react. "Thanks," was what he managed to say.  
  
Monica found herself feeling odd. She had fought Ross tooth and nail for so long that reciprocal generosity seemed out of place.  
  
"So," Ross said awkwardly. "Green?"  
  
"Not in this apartment, ever. White or near-white."  
  
"Hide-a-bed?"  
  
"Not in a million years."  
  
"Pillows to go with it?"  
  
"Let me pick out the pillows."  
  
"New or used?"  
  
"Whatever you can afford, so long as it's clean."  
  
"Okay." Ross tossed the keys in the air, caught them, grinned at her, and left.  
  
Monica walked into the center of the living room, trying to imagine the best place to put the couch. And trying to imagine what it would look like with Kip on it. Sitting next to her.  
  
Feeling strangely satisfied, Monica began picking out possible coffee tables she could put in front of her new couch.

* * *

(to be continued)

Author's Notes: Sorry this is so short. I have much more written but it's further on down the road, and I have to bridge the gap, as it were. Expect much more soon.


	5. Monica and her Other New Neighbor

Something loud woke up Monica. Fighting off both fuzziness and a sense of deja-vu, she eyed the alarm clock. Seven-thirty. In the morning.  
  
Someone knocked on the door again. With a groan, Monica climbed out of bed and put on her robe. She checked her face and hair in the mirror, and they both looked terrible.  
  
But there was nothing she could do about it. Wearily she almost staggered to the front door and opened it.  
  
Kip stood there, also in a robe, a newspaper under his arm and a smile on his face. "You mentioned breakfast?"  
  
"That I did. Come in." Monica walked into the kitchen. "Coffee?"  
  
"Please." Kip sat at the table. Monica heard the sound of the newspaper being opened.  
  
She opened the coffee can and stared inside, hoping the smell would kick her brain into gear. "Is Chandler coming?"  
  
"Don't think so. He didn't want me to come."  
  
Monica snorted. She used a full scoop and started the coffee machine. Monica got a frying pan from the cupboard, put it on the stove, turned on the heat, then trudged over to the front door. She walked across the hall to thump twice on the apartment door opposite.  
  
A few seconds later Chandler opened it. He was mostly dressed although his tie was loose. "Hey, you should be asleep," was how he greeted her.  
  
"Humph," was all she could manage in reply. Then, a little more clearly, "Come on over. I have coffee brewing."  
  
"You don't need to-"  
  
"Shut up and let me fix you an omelet," Monica said without heat. She turned and shuffled back inside her apartment, leaving the door open.  
  
By the time she was done gathering the ingredients she would use, the coffee was done and Chandler was sticking his head inside the apartment. She motioned him impatiently to the kitchen table. "Cream or sugar?"  
  
"Neither, thanks," Chandler said reluctantly. He sat at the table, looking guilty.  
  
Kip looked up from the paper. "Two sugars for me."  
  
Monica soon had coffee and food in front of the men. For herself she poured a glass of orange juice and sat with her head propped up by her hand. Anyone else she'd yell at for having elbows on the table, but just this once she was going to forgive herself.  
  
She spent the time looking at Kip, who was intent on the sports section. She tried to remember what sport was in season. Basketball, wasn't it? And hockey. "Think the Knicks have a chance?"  
  
"If they can get by the Bulls, yeah." Kip shook his head while still studying the paper. "If only Jordan would get a knee injury or something."  
  
"Guy deserves at least one championship, though," Chandler said with a curious lack of enthusiasm. "You a sports fan, Monica?"  
  
"Not really," Monica admitted. "You?"  
  
"Eh. Sometimes. Rangers mostly." Chandler finished his omelet. "This was great. As usual. I only wish you'd screw up one dish so I wouldn't feel like I'm living across from Donna Reed."  
  
"Hah." Monica shook her head. "What makes you think my goal in life is to be a fifties housewife?"  
  
Chandler widened his eyes. "I didn't, I mean, you, you... feminism! Feminism is good, burn all the bras!"  
  
Monica laughed. Somehow Chandler looking panicked was at once hilarious and touching. "Think I'll hang on to mine, thanks all the same."  
  
"Well, that's good news," Kip said as he folded the paper. His crooked smile made Monica suddenly very self-conscious. If only she'd had time to wash her face or something.  
  
Feeling slightly flustered, she took their plates away. Chandler took one more sip of coffee and stood. "Well, it's off to work. Mind if I store my brain in your freezer, Monica? I won't need it for the next nine hours."  
  
Monica tsked. "Use your own freezer."  
  
"Right." He grinned and left.  
  
That left Kip, who was now reading the comics. Monica put the dishes in the sink and, with no small amount of effort, decided to wash them later. Instead she sat back at the table. "So, when do you start work?"  
  
Kip glanced up at the clock. "In an hour or so. I don't need to punch in so I can fudge by a few minutes."  
  
"Oh?" The concept was alien to Monica. She frowned and tried another tack. "What do you do exactly?"  
  
"Lab Tech. I analyze medical samples, blood tests, that sort of stuff." He looked up with a confident smile. "I help doctors diagnose illnesses and save lives."  
  
"Wow. Are you going to become a doctor?"  
  
"Maybe someday." He looked back at the comics. "For now I make good money and I don't have to be on call or nothing. That gives me time to do my own thing."  
  
"And what thing is that?"  
  
"I'll let you know." Kip folded up the paper and stood up. "There's a bar down the street. Want to meet there after work?"  
  
"I get off work at two in the morning," Monica said reluctantly. "How about tomorrow night?"  
  
"Tomorrow it is." Kip lifted the paper in a kind of salute and left the apartment.  
  
Monica rose after a minute and closed the door. She stumbled back to her room and collapsed into bed. After a few minutes she got up again and went back into the kitchen to clean the dishes. Honestly, she thought grumpily, she should have known better. 

* * *

The bar was small and, Monica noticed, not very crowded. It was only a Wednesday night, she supposed, but still she expected more activity. A pool table took up much of the floor space, and Monica eyed it speculatively. She looked around the room and didn't see Kip.  
  
She went to the bar and ordered a beer. A middle-aged man also at the bar eyed her quite frankly. Monica resisted an urge to strike a pose. Men had almost never looked at her in high school. They'd either quickly avert their eyes or sneer. After she'd gone through her weight-loss regimen, men had suddenly started paying attention to her, and she still found it a heady experience. Rachel had complained about men always leering at her, but Monica could never understand that. Having someone want you, want to be with you, was a wonderful feeling. Why Rachel thought it irksome Monica would never know.  
  
Kip and the beer arrived almost at the same time. Kip ordered his own beer while Monica appraised him. He was wearing a casual short-sleeved shirt and some slacks, and had clearly groomed himself well. The overall effect was aesthetically pleasing, and Monica found herself smiling again. "So, how was work?"  
  
Kip shrugged. "Same as always. They're trying to force some of us to work second shift but I'm not going to do it. That's a terrible time to have to work, it destroys your whole social life."  
  
"Yeah." Monica sipped her beer. It hadn't really destroyed her social life, though, working second shift. Okay, she hadn't had much of a social life, but she'd still managed to see Ross and Carol every once in a while. And now she had Kip and Chandler coming over in the morning for breakfast. She'd found ways to adjust, but she had a feeling lecturing Kip on the subject wasn't going to help her cause.  
  
Her eyes fell on the pool table. "Hey, wanna play a game?"  
  
"Uh, sure. You know how to play?"  
  
"Of course." Monica got some change from the bartender and used it to force the pool table to release its balls. She began placing them into the triangle. "Drag for break?"  
  
"You go ahead." Kip took two cue sticks from a nearby rack and handed one to her.  
  
She took it, lined up the cue ball, and gave it all she had. The balls bounced around the table with satisfying energy. Two dropped, and Monica studied the position for a second.  
  
"Wow. You have a sledgehammer break."  
  
Monica smiled while still keeping her eyes on the table. "It comes from the exercise. I work out just about every day if you ever want to join me?"  
  
"Well, we'll discuss workouts at some later date," Kip said with a hint of teasing.  
  
Monica filed that flirtation away for later consideration as she picked her shot. She slammed the seven ball home and grimaced as the cue ball rebounded with more force than she had intended. She could just about get the two ball if she banked her shot just right. Monica lined up the shot but missed it pretty badly. Delicate shots were just not her forte.  
  
With a grunt of annoyance, Monica yielded the table to Kip. He took a long sip of beer, then set the glass down and took a stab at the one ball. To Monica's dismay, he missed but the cue ball hit the fourteen on the uncontrolled rebound and knocked it into the side. She should have specified at the beginning that junk didn't count.  
  
She shook her head and tried to focus on Kip. "So, any family in the city?"  
  
"Two brothers in Kansas City, mother in New Brunswick." Clearly not a subject he was interested in. Kip managed an easy shot of the ten ball. "Father died of cancer, that's what got me interested in medical technology."  
  
"Oh." Monica felt a deep wave of sympathy. Poor guy.  
  
Kip missed his next shot and straightened. "I make do. I miss him, of course. But I do what I can to make sure people get diagnosed correctly, so no one else has to face what I went through."  
  
Monica squeezed his arm, looking up at him. She then turned towards the table, feeling mildly wretched. The nine ball was begging to be dropped so she accommodated it.  
  
The rest of the table was clear and she finished the game quickly. She looked at Kip. "Another game?"  
  
"Sure," he said uncertainly.  
  
"I'll let you break." Monica dropped more coins into the slot. She set up the table quickly and efficiently. Kip lounged with his beer and didn't seem in an especial hurry.  
  
Monica shifted her weight back and forth between her legs before finally blurting out, "It's your break."  
  
Kip nodded, took another swig, stepped forward, and tried to hit the cue ball as hard as he could. It flew off the table without actually touching any of the other balls.  
  
Monica quickly retrieved it and put it back in place. In an exceptional display of generosity, she said, "You can do it over."  
  
Kip sighed. "Let's not play any more."  
  
"No! I'll spot you a ball!" The words were out of her mouth before she realized how they sounded.  
  
"Thanks all the same." Kip put the cue stick on the table and finished up his beer. "Thanks for the game, Monica. I'm going to get to bed, I have an early day tomorrow."  
  
"You... you sure?"  
  
"Yeah. See you at breakfast." Kip turned and left the bar.  
  
Monica sat on a bar stool, feeling her eyes begin to water. Why'd she have to suggest a game of pool? Why'd she have to show him up like that? She should have gracefully lost. And yet, the phrase "gracefully lost" wasn't in her vocabulary. She just couldn't lose. Not deliberately. Not ever. She needed to win. She almost always won.  
  
Except when it came to men. Then she could lose all the time.  
  
"Don't look so down." This from the middle-aged man next to her. "Want me to buy you a drink?"  
  
Monica looked up at him. Then she grabbed him and kissed him, hard and forcibly. He tasted of alcohol but she didn't care. He seemed surprised but responded eventually.  
  
"Guys, guys, take it outside."  
  
Monica broke off the kiss and looked at the bartender. He was looking back with an expression of professional disdain. Suddenly, impossibly, Monica managed to feel even worse about herself.  
  
She shoved the man next to her away and practically fled to the door. Her eyes stung horribly. Getting thinner was supposed to make all her boy problems go away, but she'd started by cutting off the toe of someone she found mildly attractive and had ended up passionately kissing a stranger in a bar. Nowhere along the way had she found anything like... like Ross had found with Carol.  
  
Monica fumbled with the door to her apartment building and managed to get it open after a couple of tries. She sprinted up the stairs, quickly unlocked her door, slammed it shut behind her, and ran towards her bedroom. She quickly changed into her workout clothes.  
  
She began exercising vigorously, trying to create as much sweat as possible. Perhaps if she tried long enough and hard enough she'd disappear altogether and never again have to worry about the Kips of the world.

* * *

(to be continued) 


	6. Monica and Breakfast

Monica inhaled deeply. The sauce smelled all right. Maybe. Her hand twitched as she thought of a dozen different spices she could add to get it just right. But she also knew that too many ingredients would distract the palate, leading to a sense of blandness. She stirred once more and decided that this would be good enough.  
  
She looked over into the living room, where Kip and Chandler were lounging on the couch, watching some stupid show. Monica was well out of the loop on prime time television, but whatever this was looked particularly insipid.  
  
"See, watch, he runs so fast you can't see him!" Chandler pointed at the screen.  
  
Kip gestured with the bottle of beer he was holding. "I see a red streak."  
  
"Yes, but that's all you see! Unless you're on a motorcycle like this guy."  
  
"So he can run as fast as a motorcycle?"  
  
"And even faster! I bet he could run faster than light if he wanted!"  
  
"Light can go, what, around the world a dozen times in a second? How could he do that?"  
  
"Well, okay, he'd have to stand in line at immigrations, but other than that, swoosh!"  
  
Monica decided to bring it all to a halt. "Dinner's ready."  
  
They both stood up instantly. Chandler turned off the television and asked, "Is Ross coming?"  
  
"Said he was." Monica shrugged. "His fault for being late."  
  
"Maybe not, he could so have been waylaid by a triceratops on the way home." Chandler sat at the table. "Spaghetti?"  
  
"And salad, yeah." Monica indicated the pot on the stove. "Serve the sauce yourself but be very careful not to spill. Very careful."  
  
"Or you'll make us lick the floor clean?" Kip said with an easy smile.  
  
Monica couldn't help shuddering. "Not unless your saliva is made of ammonia."  
  
The door opened. Ross came in, and to Monica's surprise Carol was right behind him. They both greeted Monica warmly. Monica was both pleased to see Carol and irritated that Ross hadn't given her more of a warning. Hastily she prepared an extra place at the table while Ross introduced his wife to Kip.  
  
Monica waited until everyone had served themselves, then got her own share of spaghetti and sauce. Fortunately there seemed to be plenty. She sat down, eyeing the generous amount of parmesan cheese Chandler was putting on his spaghetti. Used to be, she'd apply similar amounts, if not more. Nowadays she exercised a bit more restraint, but it didn't stop her from occasionally hungering for the indulgences of old.  
  
Shaking herself, she looked over at Carol and smiled. "It's good to see you again. How's work?"  
  
"Work? Work is great, I'm finally developing an actual practice." Carol smiled. "I'm actually beginning to make an income."  
  
"We may even pay off our college loans early," Ross said.  
  
Carol rolled her eyes. "He means pay off my college loans, of course. Your parents paid for most of yours, didn't they?"  
  
"Not... not everything." But Ross looked chagrined, with good reason. Over the years their parents had put together a sizeable college fund for Ross and Monica. Monica had only taken two years of college to get an Associate's Degree in Culinary Arts (to the never-ending dismay of her mother). That had simply meant more money for Ross to finish his Master's in Paleontology (to the never-ending delight of his mother).  
  
Monica shoved those thoughts out of her head. "That's good to hear, Carol. And it keeps you busy."  
  
"Yes," Carol said with feeling. "I feel so... so alive again. Like I'm a useful member of society now."  
  
"You, you were useful before," Ross said plaintively.  
  
"Yes, I was a useful interior decorator and would-be baby incubator," Carol said testily. "Not much more, though, was I?"  
  
Monica leaped in before Ross could answer. "So what brings you down here tonight?"  
  
Carol didn't immediately say anything and took a bite of spaghetti. It was Ross who answered. "We, we've been spending so much time apart, I, I thought it would be good if she could, y'know, join us. Get to know the people I spend my evenings with."  
  
Carol swallowed and smiled around. "He seems to enjoy being with you all, I wanted to see what it was like."  
  
"It's a never-ending fun-o-rama," Chandler said with alacrity. "We while away lo the many hours swapping stories and debating deeply philosophical questions like which of the Golden Girls would win a no-holds-barred wrestling match between them."  
  
"Dorothy," Kip said confidently. "She's got weight, height, and reach on all of the others."  
  
"You're overlooking Sophia's innate toughness, though. She may be small, but she's got grit."  
  
"Anyway," Monica said before the conversation got out of hand, "you're welcome to come over any time, you know. I love cooking dinner."  
  
"Do you?" Carol peered at Monica. "You look tired."  
  
The observation made Monica want to yawn. With an effort, she suppressed it. "Well, I've been putting in a lot of hours at work."  
  
"Oh?" Carol leaned forwards toward Monica. "Why?"  
  
She shrugged. "I need the money."  
  
"You do?"  
  
"Yes. This place is kind of expensive."  
  
"Oh." Carol's eyes wandered over the apartment before coming to rest on Monica again. "And you still don't want to get a roommate?"  
  
"No." Monica shrugged. "I kind of... I want to see if I can make it by myself for a while."  
  
"I'm certain you can, and I'm certain you'll hurt yourself proving it," Carol said gently. "There's no need to keep forcing yourself to do something just because you think you ought to. If having someone help you with expenses would allow you more time to relax and enjoy life, don't you think it's worth it?"  
  
Monica fidgeted uncomfortably. Chandler she could dismiss, Ross she could insult, and her mother she could simply simmer without listening. But Carol's soft persistence was hard to ignore. "Maybe. Maybe. But I want to... to keep trying. For now."  
  
"Of course." Carol touched Monica's hand briefly. "I admire your courage. I just don't want to see you get hurt."  
  
"Thanks." Monica took a large forkful of spaghetti to keep from having to say more.  
  
Fortunately Chandler filled the gap by launching a debate about which of the Wonder Twins had the cooler power. Kip and, eventually, Ross joined in, although Ross at first gave Monica a curious look. Almost like he was jealous, although that made no sense at all to Monica.  
  
Monica's contributions were usually dry observations about the silliness of the topic, but this time she kept quiet. Because, suddenly, she was feeling an absence, one she hadn't felt until Carol had joined them for dinner. She needed a female friend, someone to balance the presence of Kip, Ross, and Chandler. And she had the feeling that Carol wasn't going to be the answer, however much she enjoyed her presence.  
  
She ate her spaghetti thoughtfully and thought about the empty room next to hers.

* * *

By this time the knock on the door was almost expected. Blearily Monica got up, put on her robe, and wandered over to the door. She opened it to the sight of Kip and Chandler. She smiled at Kip, who still was able to make her tingle slightly even when she was asleep on her feet. "Come in you guys."  
  
They came in. Chandler rushed to make coffee over Monica's half-hearted protests. She caved in and began making French toast instead. Kip, as usual, sat and read the paper. He did give her a big smile and thank-you when she put the plate in front of him. She sat down, sipping orange juice with her eyes half-closed as the men ate. It was all very normal and routine by this point, and while Monica sometimes felt frustrated that she couldn't initiate witty conversations with Kip, at the same time she was almost always too tired to care anyway.  
  
Chandler poured syrup on top of his French toast, then put the bottle on the table with more force than was necessary. "We have got to stop."  
  
Monica looked at him for a couple of seconds, trying to figure out what it was that had him so worked up. "Stop what?"  
  
"This." Chandler waved around the table. "Waking you up in the middle of your night. You're already working sixty hours a week, you don't need us barging in and freeloading off of you."  
  
Monica sighed. "I don't consider it freeloading. I enjoy your company."  
  
"You're too tired to enjoy anything!" Chandler was uncharacteristically angry. Kip looked up from his paper in surprise but didn't say anything. "Look, I like hanging out with you, Monica. But I don't want to turn you into the living dead while doing it."  
  
His exhortations managed to get enough adrenaline flowing in Monica's veins to wake her up a bit more. "Don't turn into another Ross, I have one too many of those already. If I want to get up and fix you breakfast every morning, then just let me and don't complain. I can take care of myself."  
  
"I know you can, I know you can." Chandler thinned his lips. "But, dammit woman... you're killing yourself trying to be nice to us and I don't want to be a part of it."  
  
"Then don't come over," Monica snapped. "Kip, you'll still over for breakfast, won't you?"  
  
Kip looked back and forth between Chandler and Monica before giving her an easy grin. "Of course I will."  
  
"Good. Then I'll be up anyway, and you may as well come over, too."  
  
Chandler shot an angry glance at Kip, who had gone back to his paper. With a defeated sigh he attacked his French toast. Monica took another long drink of her orange juice while watching Chandler closely. He was clearly dissatisfied, and she guessed he'd be having a talk and possible fight with Kip very soon on this subject. Which she didn't need. She wanted Kip and Chandler to be friendly to each other and friendly to her. Especially Kip.  
  
After polishing off his French toast, Chandler took his plate to the sink and washed it along with the rest of the dishes. Monica sighed but let him have his little self-inflicted penance. He took Kip's plate away as well even though the French toast was only half-eaten. Kip began to protest but the look on Chandler's face was enough to stop him. Kip stood up, took one last sip of coffee, and lifted his folded paper with a smile, his way of saying goodbye. Chandler stayed behind, still scrubbing the breakfast dishes.  
  
When he was done, Chandler looked at the kitchen clock and muttered. He dried off his hands and began to head towards the door.  
  
Monica stopped him by grabbing his arm. "Wait."  
  
He looked down at her, still clearly a little angry. "What?"  
  
"I, I want you to know... I'm going to get a roommate. Carol's right and you're right; I can't keep doing this to myself."  
  
"Ross said the same thing, too, don't forget." The expression on Chandler's face softened a bit. "But that doesn't change the fact that on days that you work, we're still barging in while you should be sleeping."  
  
"Yeah. Well, how about this." Monica stood up and walked over to the utility drawer. She opened it up and pulled out a key. With a small smile, she wondered how often she'd be repeating this scene. She turned and held the key out towards him. "Take this."  
  
Chandler took the key gently. "What is it?"  
  
"The key to my apartment."  
  
Chandler held the key as far away from himself as possible, as if afraid of it. "Why, why, why would you give this to me?"  
  
"So that you and Kip can let yourselves in. You can make your own coffee and I can leave behind stuff that will allow you to quickly make your own breakfasts."  
  
"Oh?" Chandler was now staring at Monica. "So we can stuff ourselves with your food while you sleep?"  
  
"Yes. If I do all that for you, will you not get angry with me if I decide to get up early once in a while and join you?"  
  
Chandler looked down at his feet, looking quite ashamed. "Of, of course. I'm sorry I was being such a twit."  
  
"You're not a twit. Well, not always."  
  
Chandler looked back up at her and smiled briefly. "Why not give Kip the key? He's the one you really want to come over."  
  
Monica thinned her lips. "I... I don't want to give Kip the wrong idea. He might think I... well, he might interpret it in a slightly different way that what I mean."  
  
"Meaning, I'm perfectly safe and harmless and won't come bounding into your bedroom at half-past three wearing nothing but spurs and a cowboy hat?"  
  
Monica laughed. "Meaning... I trust you."  
  
Chandler just looked at her for a few seconds. Then he put the key in his pocket. "All right. I hope you realize every single man in Manhattan will have a copy of this by noon."  
  
"Oh, shut up." She pushed him towards the door. "Get to work, you're late."  
  
"Yes sir!" Chandler bounded through the door with an exaggerated gait that had Monica smiling.  
  
She closed the door and looked at the dishes and decided her trust didn't quite extend to his dishwashing abilities. Monica cleaned everything again while composing a roommate-wanted advertisement in her head.

* * *

(to be continued)


	7. Monica and her Interviewees

Monica shuffled out of her bedroom. Eight in the morning still felt like midnight to her. So it actually took her a moment to register Chandler sitting at the breakfast table, eating cereal and reading a newspaper.  
  
She frowned and tried to concentrate. "Aren't you late?"  
  
"A little bit, but not much." Chandler didn't lift his eyes from the paper. "You know, it says here the sun rose today at six twenty-seven. I think they're lying. Want to check it out tomorrow?"  
  
"Shut up. That's four hours after I get off work." She rubbed her eyes and went over to pour herself some of the coffee Chandler had made.  
  
Now he looked up at her. "And what has you arising so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning?"  
  
"I'm interviewing roommates." She sat down heavily in a chair opposite Chandler at the table.  
  
"Already? You just posted flyers, what yesterday?"  
  
"Yeah. And I got five phone calls before I left for work yesterday. Two of them sounded all right, and I'm interviewing them today. If I like one of them, I'll take the flyers down tonight."  
  
"Wow. You are a go-getter." Chandler grinned and stood up. "All right, the limo broke down again today so I have to go catch the subway. Let me know how the interviews went."  
  
"Will do." Monica managed to smile back at him despite the weariness. Chandler picked up his jacket and left.  
  
Monica sipped her coffee, still mentally debating the wisdom of letting him come in as he pleased. Her common sense was in a fierce mental debate with her instincts, which for some reason told her that he was trustworthy.  
  
Monica pushed that all aside for now and went through the morning ritual of eating breakfast and washing up. After dressing, she was sufficiently alert enough that the buzzing of the intercom wasn't a deafening annoyance. She pushed the door open button without bothering to verify who it was, and opened the front door. A minute later a woman walked up the stairs and peered down the hallway. "Monica?"  
  
"Yup. Come in." Monica stepped aside as the woman entered, looking around the apartment. She seemed suitably impressed, which pleased Monica.  
  
"Wow. This is so beautiful. Did you decorate it yourself?"  
  
"It's... it's a work in progress." Still, Monica felt a warm glow at the praise. "I'm sorry, just to make certain, you're...?"  
  
"Meghan." The woman held out her hand and gave Monica a firm, brief handshake. "I'm so pleased you were able to let me see it so quickly, I really need a good place to stay in Manhattan and everything is too expensive or too dirty."  
  
"Well, this place is neither. This is the kitchen, everything is old but it works. Bathroom is over here - and yeah, it's pretty small, sorry to say."  
  
Meghan eyed it and shrugged. "Looks functional, that's all I need. Nice soap you have."  
  
Monica grinned. "Thanks. Here's the bedroom." She led Meghan across the living room. "Not huge, but it's got a walk-in closet."  
  
"It's great." Meghan beamed at Monica. "What rules do you have for living here?"  
  
"Rules?" Monica actually hadn't considered that. "No rules, really, except try to keep things neat and pay the rent and your share of the utilities on time."  
  
"Oh, I can do both of those things easy." Meghan had taken out a notebook and was making notes. "Do you have a boyfriend?"  
  
Monica furrowed her eyebrows a bit. "Not... not right at the moment. But, I mean, if you want to bring boyfriends over, that, that's fine with me."  
  
Meghan nodded, still writing. "Have you lived here long?"  
  
"Two years, but only a couple of months on my own. Before it was my grandmother's."  
  
"Ah. And, um, may I ask what you do?"  
  
"I'm an assistant chef."  
  
"Oh?" Meghan looked mildly surprised. "Oh, you'll have to fix me something special sometime." She jotted another note down, then folded up the notepad and put it back in her purse. "This place really is very lovely, I'd very much like to stay here."  
  
"Good. Just leave the name and number of your employer, please, plus a number I can contact you at. I have more interviews today, but I'll let you know in the next day or two."  
  
Meghan provided those things, then smiled. "I hope you say yes. We could be the best of friends, don't you think?"  
  
Monica smiled back. Perhaps they could. She was getting a good vibration from this woman; she seemed to think a lot like Monica did. Monica led Meghan to the doorway. "We'll have to see. Take care."  
  
She opened the door. Meghan was already on the way out and nearly ran into another woman standing at the door. Meghan screeched to a halt as the other woman jumped slightly, her hands covering her mouth. "Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, oh!"  
  
Meghan frowned. "Do you always lurk in doorways trying to scare people?"  
  
"Oh no, not always, not anymore. I, I'm sorry!" The other woman stepped back.  
  
Meghan gave a disgusted shake of her head and walked on out the apartment. Monica frowned after her, then looked up at the new woman, who was several inches taller than she was. "May I help you?"  
  
The woman looked back at her with wide eyes. "I, I'm Phoebe, we, you said I should come over today, to look at this apartment."  
  
Monica's frown deepened. "That wasn't supposed to be for an hour yet."  
  
"Oh? Oh, well, I didn't want to be late, and I, I wanted to, y'know, feel out the place before I met you."  
  
"Hmm. How'd you get inside?"  
  
"Oh, well, someone must have left the door open."  
  
Monica fought off an urge to close the door right then and there. "Well, you're here now. Come in."  
  
"Thank you." Phoebe stepped inside, her eyes darting around the room. "Oh wow, it's humongous."  
  
Monica blinked in surprise; the apartment wasn't small, but it wasn't particularly large either. "So, anyway, there's the kitchen."  
  
Phoebe didn't even glance at it, instead walking over to the window and looking outside. "Ooh, look, there's a naked man in the apartment over there."  
  
"Uh, yeah, sorry. I should call the police on him."  
  
"Oh, please don't, he's just doing what makes him happy." Phoebe wandered over to the bathroom, poked her head inside quickly, then looked at the two doors on the other side of the living room. "Do I get to pick?"  
  
"Er, no, my bedroom's the left one." Monica walked over to the other door. "So, your share would be four-fifty plus half of the utilities. This would be your room." She opened it.  
  
Phoebe stepped inside and looked around. Then she did something very odd; she closed her eyes, clasped her hands together at her chest, and spun around twice. Monica actually leaned back, uncertain what that meant and what would happen next. Tentatively, Monica asked, "Well, what do you think?"  
  
Phoebe opened her eyes and smiled. A wide smile that seemed to light up the whole room. "This feels so good. Much better than I expected."  
  
"Uh, that's nice to hear. So you'd be interested in living here?"  
  
"I'd love to, Monica, thanks!" Phoebe beamed happily.  
  
"Wait, I haven't made a decision yet. I've been interviewing other people. If you could please, leave me the name and number of your employer and a number I can contact you at."  
  
"Oh, okay." Phoebe opened her rather large purse and began digging through it. Eventually she extracted a paystub and handed it to Monica. "Deborah's my boss, and you can contact me too, if I'm not there they'll take a message."  
  
Monica frowned down at the paystub. "You should keep this for your records."  
  
"Oh no, you can have it." Phoebe grinned and walked out of the bedroom past Monica.  
  
Monica followed Phoebe to the front door. Phoebe looked through the peephole and made a little sound of "Oooh" before opening the door and turning back towards Monica. "Okay! And if you ever want aromatherapy just come on down. I'm good at it." Phoebe reached up, picked at the air over Monica's head as if pulling dust motes out of the air. "You have such a lovely aura." She grinned at Monica before whirling and walking quickly out the door.  
  
Slowly, Monica closed the door, feeling somewhat dazed. You had to hand it to New York; you never knew what sort of people it would throw your way. That certainly qualified as one of the oddest encounters she'd had yet.  
  
Well, at least it was over quickly. And she now had two numbers to call to verify Meghan's and Phoebe's employers. Monica picked up the phone and began dialing.

* * *

Chandler took a sip of the wine he had brought to dinner, looking at Monica the whole while. "So, which one did you like better - your long-lost twin or the space cadet?"  
  
Monica shrugged with one shoulder. "Still thinking it over."  
  
"You should definitely go with Meghan," Kip said firmly. "The other one sounds like trouble. She might end up stealing from you or losing her job or just going completely insane. When the chips are down, you should go with solid dependability."  
  
Chandler nodded reluctantly. "I'd have to say, I'd hate to have this other woman use your severed head as a birthday cake or something."  
  
"Ew!" Monica wrinkled her nose. "Stop, that's disgusting."  
  
"But it was a darned good movie." Chandler tried a grin but seemed to sense he was losing this particular jocular battle. "Anyway, I'm surprised you're still thinking about it. Seems to me you'd choose Meghan in a heartbeat."  
  
"Well, maybe." Monica toyed with the pasta still on her plate. "But... Phoebe's boss said something strange. I called her for a reference and got a good one. She also said, 'Please consider letting her live with you. She deserves to have good things happen to her.'"  
  
"Well, that would set off all sorts of warning bells in my head," Kip said. "I mean, anyone who went out of their way to say that is telling you that this woman has been involved in unsavory situations. Therefore she's probably mentally unstable. Stay away from her, that's what I say."  
  
Monica sighed and stood up. This usually signaled the end of dinner. Kip and Chandler also rose and helped her clear and clean the dishes. Monica wrapped up the leftovers, wishing Ross had been able to make it. For one of the few times in her life she would have welcomed his advice.  
  
Kip waved goodbye and walked out the door back towards his apartment. Chandler, however, lingered a moment, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "Look, let me say this one thing, okay?"  
  
Monica nodded and beckoned him on.  
  
"Having... having someone that's similar to you as a roommate is not always the best thing." Chandler gestured at the front door and his apartment beyond. "Kip's an okay sort of guy, but it's not like we have fun and games all the time - in fact, there are some days I come home and find myself disappointed that he's there. Not that I hate the guy - I know you like him and all - but he just doesn't do anything for me."  
  
Monica raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Oh, stop that!" Chandler took on a look of mock severity. "He wouldn't do anything for me even if I was... even if I liked... my father's the gay one, not me!"  
  
"Pity. You and Kip would make a fine couple."  
  
"Oh shut up. Now, I gotta go back and let Kip know the wedding is off." Chandler stormed away.  
  
Chuckling, Monica went over to the phone. Teasing Chandler was almost too easy; the man was a bundle of insecurities. Not like his roommate. Kip knew exactly how he felt about every subject and was extremely comfortable with who he was and what he was doing. Hopefully he'd work up the nerve to ask her out soon. She'd left enough hints already; with luck Monica wouldn't have to resort to Chandler's suggestion of the neon sign with the words 'Ask Her Out' and an arrow pointing at her head.  
  
With a bit of an effort, Monica forced herself to focus on the two telephone numbers written on the pad by the phone. Impulsively she grabbed the phone and dialed one of the numbers. As it rang, she felt better. This had to be the right decision. She'd start by delivering the good news, then work up to softening the bad news.  
  
After a few rings, the phone was picked up. "Hi, this is Meghan and Robin. Leave a message after the you-know-what."  
  
Monica waited. "Hello, this is Monica Geller calling Meghan regarding the apartment. Please call me back as soon as is convenient for you. Thanks."  
  
She hung up, gathered herself, and picked the phone up again. This time the phone was answered after one ring. "Scents of Paradise."  
  
"May I speak with Phoebe Buffay please?"  
  
"Oh, sure, one minute." The phone was set down and Monica heard someone getting out of a chair. She waited a moment and heard the sound of rapidly running feet and the phone being grabbed from whatever surface it had been laying on.  
  
"Hello? This is me, Phoebe I mean." She sounded breathless.  
  
Monica swallowed, kept her voice somber. "This is Monica calling. I thought I should let you know about the apartment."  
  
"Oh? Oh." Phoebe's voice was heavy with fear. "Uh, and?"  
  
"I, I want you to know-" Monica's voice caught. She fought the restriction on her throat, coughed artificially, and got the words out. "I want you to know that I've decided to offer you the apartment."  
  
"Oh? Yay!" Phoebe's voice was pure excitement. "When, when can I move in?"  
  
Monica stood there feeling numb. Had those words really come out of her mouth? They must have, or she wouldn't be hearing the sounds of a woman jumping up and down at the other end of the phone. "Uh, well, I'll need first and last month's rent, nine hundred dollars. As soon as you can provide that, you can move in. Tomorrow, if you like."  
  
"Nine hundred dollars!" Phoebe stopped jumping. "To move in?"  
  
"Well, yeah." Monica found relief warring with disappointment in her head. If Phoebe couldn't meet this requirement, Monica could turn her down guilt-free. "That's pretty standard."  
  
"Nine hundred dollars! I, I can't-"  
  
Phoebe's name was called in the background. She evidently turned her head away from the phone but didn't cover the mouthpiece; Monica could hear the conversation clearly.  
  
"Tell her you'll take it."  
  
"But nine hundred dollars, I don't have it, I can't-"  
  
"I'll lend it to you. Call it an advance on your salary. I'll deduct fifty dollars every two weeks for the next four and a half months. How's that sound?"  
  
"Oh? Oh, you're the best, Deborah. Oh yay. Oh!" Phoebe's voice was suddenly much louder. "Okay! I'll move in, uh, tomorrow, thank you, thank you Monica!"  
  
"You're welcome." Monica found a huge smile was splitting her face, and decided that was a good sign. "I have to leave for work at four, so any time before then."  
  
"Okay! Okay, bye roomie!" Phoebe hung up.  
  
Monica slowly replaced the receiver, feeling very odd. That was perhaps the most impulsive thing she had ever done. But it didn't feel wrong. In fact, it felt pretty good. It only remained to see if it turned out to be a horrible mistake.  
  
Brushing aside that thought, Monica went to the closet where she kept her cleaning supplies, preparing the apartment for its new occupant.

* * *

(to be continued)


	8. Monica and her Roommate

Monica slung her arm through the handles of the plastic grocery bags and put her key in the lock. She turned it with very little resistance, meaning it was already unlocked. Thinning her lips, she opened the door to see Chandler and Ross sitting on the couch watching reruns of Happy Days.  
  
She put the bags on the kitchen counter and folded her arms across her chest. "What are you guys doing here?"  
  
"Aaaayyyyyy", Chandler said. Ross held out his fist in a thumbs-up posture. Neither took their eyes from the television.  
  
"Out out out," Monica said crossly. "My new roommate is going to be here any second."  
  
This got their attention. Ross turned his head to look at her as Chandler shut off the television. "Do we get to meet her?"  
  
"Not right now! I don't want her to run away screaming before she actually moves in. It's best I ease her into introductions."  
  
"See!" Chandler looked at Ross. "I told you those women at the video store weren't an isolated incident!"  
  
"Ha ha." Ross stood up along with Chandler. "All right. Chandler, wanna play some pool at the bar?"  
  
"Sure, but let me grab a paper bag to put over my head first. Wouldn't want the ladies to be overwhelmed by my hideousness."  
  
"Good point," Ross agreed with mock seriousness. "Get one for me, too."  
  
Monica decided enough was enough. "Okay, done talking, out now! I'll ask her if she wants to have dinner with you all tomorrow."  
  
They left easily enough, somewhat to Monica's surprise. She closed the door and looked around the apartment, searching for signs of newly-created messes. Nothing was readily apparent, so she quickly unpacked the groceries - stocking up for her roommate so she wouldn't have to worry about shopping for food right away. Monica then went into the living room and carefully moved some of the furniture back, creating a clear pathway from the door to the empty bedroom.  
  
She was just considering covering the doorjambs with newspaper to prevent scuffs when the intercom buzzed. Monica ran over and pressed a button. "Hello?"  
  
"Hi, it's Phoebe, I'm here to move in."  
  
"Come on up." Monica buzzed her in, then stood somewhat nervously in front of the door.  
  
Very soon there was a knocking on the door. Monica pulled it open, putting a smile on her face. "Hello, and welcome."  
  
"Hi!" Phoebe stood with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder, along with her purse. She stepped in, looking around with a huge smile on her face.  
  
Monica left the door open and followed Phoebe as she went into her new room. Phoebe stepped inside and seemed to do a two-second jig. Then she set the duffel bag down, reached into her purse, and pulled out a check. "Here."  
  
"Thanks." Monica took it, noticing that it was drawn on the name of Phoebe's employer and made to cash. She walked out into the living room and found her own purse. She put the check in her own checkbook and made a notation in her appointment book to deposit it on her way to work.  
  
This took a couple of minutes, and in that time, Phoebe didn't leave her room. Monica frowned at the still-open apartment door, then walked back to Phoebe's bedroom. "Need any help with your stuff?"  
  
Phoebe was busy pulling things out of her duffel bag. "No thanks."  
  
Monica watched as Phoebe created little piles of clothing, jewelry, cosmetics, and other necessities. Monica's frown deepened. "Do you have any furniture?"  
  
"Well, of course I do." Phoebe lifted up the blanket she had extracted.  
  
"Uh, anything else?"  
  
"Oh, this too." She lifted up a pillow.  
  
"Is that all?"  
  
"Oh, how silly, and this." Phoebe held out a toothbrush.  
  
Monica stared at it somewhat cross-eyed. "Uh, do you have a bed?"  
  
"A bed." Phoebe considered this for a moment. Then her eyes lit up. "I should get a bed!"  
  
A terrible suspicion settled over Monica. "Phoebe, besides the things you brought in your duffel bag - and purse - do you have anything else that needs to be brought into the apartment?"  
  
"Um..." Phoebe thought this over for a few seconds. "No."  
  
Monica looked at the piles Phoebe had been creating. "You don't own anything else?"  
  
"Well, you know, ownership is a kind of overrated thing anyway."  
  
"Did... did you leave all your furniture at home?"  
  
Phoebe flinched. "Yes, it's at home. Where home used to be seven, eight... ten?... years ago. I don't... I... it's going to stay there forever."  
  
"Oh." Monica watched as Phoebe arranged the blanket and pillow on the hard wooden floors. If Phoebe had left home that long ago, she couldn't have been very old at the time. "Where did you sleep after you moved away from home?"  
  
"Oh, here and there. The park, the library. An AMC Gremlin for a while." Phoebe grinned at Monica. "This is the best place ever. Ever ever."  
  
"Yes, I, I can imagine. Excuse me."  
  
Monica walked back out into the living room and crossed over to the front door. Gently she closed and locked it, then went back into the living room to rearrange the furniture.  
  
All the while feeling slightly in shock. Of all the possibilities she'd ever imagined in acquiring a new roommate, it had never occurred to her that she'd be taking in homeless runaway. Suddenly Chandler's joke about severed heads seemed a lot less funny.  
  
It couldn't be too late, could it? Pretend that the check had bounced, order her out, get the police to help if necessary, call Meghan back, beg her to come move in as quickly as possible.  
  
Phoebe walked into the living room, arms clasped in front of her. Monica was instantly on her guard, suddenly wishing she hadn't ordered Ross and Chandler to leave. "So... all settled in?"  
  
"Uh huh." Phoebe wandered over to the window. "Look, the naked man is doing jumping jacks."  
  
Monica walked up beside her. She felt a desperate need to say something, anything. "Jumping jacks are a total waste. They're not good exercise at all, even for aerobics."  
  
"But it's fun!" Phoebe did two jumping jacks herself, as if to demonstrate.  
  
Monica tried not to encourage her. "And he shouldn't be doing them in front of his window."  
  
"I think it's cute," Phoebe said with an endearing smile.  
  
Monica turned away, unable to continue that conversation, and sat down on the couch. Phoebe sat on the love seat, grinning. "This is neat! A chair I can sit in without a security guard looking at me."  
  
"Uh, yeah." Monica was floundering badly. "I, I hope you feel comfortable here. There are some things you should know."  
  
"Sure." Phoebe leaned forward, her expression one of rapt attention.  
  
"Uh... okay, I work second shift mostly. My schedule's quite variable; I'll post it on the refrigerator."  
  
"Oh. I work, uh, when there's work, I try to go in every day and see if they need me, and usually they do, but not always, and then I borrow Armless Ed's guitar and play in the subway for a while. I have lots of tokens if you ever need one."  
  
Monica blinked. "Armless Ed's guitar?"  
  
"He says his arms don't really exist, that they're just an extension of his psychic power. His hands are real, though."  
  
"Oh." Monica tried to refocus herself. "Also, I've given the key to my... our apartment to a couple of other people. My brother Ross, and Chandler who lives across the hall. I've invited Chandler and his roommate Kip to help themselves to breakfast every morning, but if you don't want them over in the morning I'll understand. And feel free to tell them to leave whenever."  
  
"Is Chandler a boy or a girl?"  
  
"Um... a boy."  
  
"Cute?"  
  
"Not so you'd really notice."  
  
"Well, if they're your friends then they can come over any time." Phoebe smiled. "I hope I get to meet them soon."  
  
"I've invited everyone over to dinner tomorrow, if you'd like to meet them."  
  
"Tomorrow's Sunday, right? That's fine." Phoebe stood up. "Is it all right if I take a shower?"  
  
Monica furrowed her brow. "Phoebe... it's your bathroom, too. You can take a shower any time you want to."  
  
"Oh." Phoebe blushed slightly. "Is it all right if I keep my shampoo in there?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And my makeup?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"And-"  
  
"Anything, Phoebe. Just please try to keep everything neat."  
  
"Okay." Phoebe paused for a moment, her face blank. Then she smiled at Monica and walked into her bedroom.  
  
Monica took the opportunity to escape into her own bedroom. She quickly changed into her work clothes, and when she heard the bathroom door close, the almost sprinted to the front door.  
  
Since she had plenty of time Monica decided to walk to the bank and then to work. And try to clear her mind. Living with Phoebe was going to take some very careful adjustments, and she had to be sure she could make them before this went on too much longer.

* * *

The city was different at half-past two in the morning. Monica walked briskly from the subway, keeping a keen eye out. She wasn't necessarily paranoid, and the neighborhood didn't really frighten her even at night. But she knew she to keep her guard up because anything was possible.  
  
She made it to the apartment without difficulty and quickly made her way upstairs. She opened the apartment door quietly, a habit she hadn't shed even after Nana had left for Florida.  
  
For at least two seconds her heart hammered in her throat, for a tall dark shape was wandering around the kitchen. Then she saw that the dark shape had long blonde hair and she relaxed. She closed and locked the door. "Hello," she called out softly.  
  
Phoebe didn't respond, continuing to pace the kitchen. Monica noticed that she seemed to be walking towards the oven, then away from it, then back to it, the only source of light coming through the windows from the streetlamps outside.  
  
Monica frowned in the direction of the light switch, wondering if she should turn them on. She blew out a breath and walked to the edge of the kitchen area. "Phoebe?"  
  
"It's horrible, the smell is horrible."  
  
Monica blinked. She inhaled through her nose. "I don't smell anything."  
  
"It chokes, it smothers, it fills your nose and mouth and lungs." Phoebe spoke in a quiet, distracted voice, and her pacing quickened slightly. "It's coming from the oven."  
  
"Phoebe, this is an electric oven. It doesn't burn gas."  
  
"It does if you blow out the pilot light. It does if you kneel in front of it." Phoebe opened the oven door and quickly closed it. "Why did you kneel in front of it?"  
  
"I, I didn't. I'm right here, Phoebe."  
  
"You knelt in front of it and blew out the pilot light. And the smell came and it was everywhere." Phoebe was beginning to sound more and more agitated. "And Ursula went to check, and she came and got me, and I had to see you, and your face was all red and you were looking at me, your eyes were open and you were saying, why did I have a daughter like you, why did you make me kneel in front of this oven, why did you blow out the pilot light, why-"  
  
Monica felt her stomach twist sharply. She stepped forward and grabbed Phoebe by the arms, forcing her to stand still. "Enough. This is not a gas oven, there is no smell, there's no one named Ursula here. It's me. Monica. You remember Monica?"  
  
Phoebe was looking over at the oven, and while she wasn't trying to break free, Monica could feel a steady pressure as if Phoebe was still drawn towards it. "I had to get away, the smell was everywhere, I couldn't... and then, and then I found a new place to stay, it's a nice place with a nice woman, you'd like her, her name is Monica. But I scare her. The more we talk, the more she doesn't want to talk, and the more she sees who I am, the more she wants to kneel in front of the oven and blow out the pilot light."  
  
The words hit Monica like a blow. "Phoebe! Phoebe, look at me." She shook her slightly. "Look at me!"  
  
Slowly, with seeming reluctance, Phoebe met her eyes.  
  
Now that she had her attention, Monica had no idea what to say. She just started saying whatever came to mind. "This is not a gas-burning oven. I am not going to kill myself. Do you hear me? I am not going to kill myself, ever. I'm glad you moved in, I'm glad you're my roommate. You're different from what I expected, that's all."  
  
Phoebe seemed to focus more on her. "Everyone goes away. They see me, then they go away. The only one who ever wanted me to stay wanted me to sell myself to his friends. Are you going to do that?"  
  
"Good heavens, no." Monica drew a breath, afraid of saying the wrong thing but not sure what was right. "I invited you to stay because I needed... I needed a woman who would... who would provide friendship in a way a man never could. I had a friend, my best friend in the world, but somehow other things became more important to her than friendship, and we'll never see each other again because of that. What I got from you when we talked is that you'd be someone who is very loyal to her friends."  
  
She was rambling. Monica tried to bring that all to one simple conclusion, hoping Phoebe would understand. "Listen to me and believe me. I won't go away, for any reason. If you stay, I'll stay too, and I won't make you do anything you don't want to do."  
  
Phoebe sniffled, then smiled tremulously. "Except pay the rent?"  
  
Monica smiled slightly. That sounded like a good response. Phoebe seemed more in sync with current reality. "And help me clean up once in a while."  
  
"Okay." Phoebe turned away from the oven. Monica let her go and watched closely as Phoebe walked towards her bedroom. "Okay, I'll stay." She paused at the bedroom door. "Thank you." Phoebe disappeared inside her room and shut the door.  
  
Monica collapsed into a cross-legged position right there on the kitchen floor. Less than a day and she was already emotionally exhausted dealing with Phoebe. More than ever it seemed attractive to call the police, force Phoebe out.  
  
But somehow in the last five minutes she'd been maneuvered into making a promise. A promise not to abandon Phoebe. And now at last she could understand Kip's warnings. She didn't need someone she had to nursemaid. She needed a companion. A friend. Not someone she needed to nursemaid. Not a patient.  
  
Wearily, Monica got to her feet and walked over to her bedroom. The world had suddenly gotten a lot more complicated, and right now she just wanted to sleep and wake up in a world where no one ever had mothers that killed themselves or brothers with marriage problems.  
  
God, if only Kip would ask her out. Then she'd have some kind of relief.  
  
Distracting herself with thoughts of Kip, Monica prepared for bed.

* * *

(to be continued) 


	9. Monica and Everyone

Monica put the package of pasta noodles on the counter, then mentally ran over the list in her head. Preparing any meal started with making certain one had all the ingredients needed. Her eyes wandered around - hamburger thawing, spices near at hand, ample portions of cheese.  
  
The sound of the key in the lock made Monica look over. The front door opened and Phoebe walked in, holding a tall brass lamp. She saw Monica, smiled, and held it out towards her. "Huh? Looks good, and I can have light any time I want!"  
  
"Yes. Yes, that would be good." Monica briefly wondered what it would be like at night if she couldn't just flip a switch when it got dark. There were so many things she took for granted that had not been a part of Phoebe's recent life, and Monica was trying her best to understand. "I'm thinking of dinner at six. How's Beef Stroganoff sound?"  
  
"Beef?" Phoebe frowned slightly. "I don't eat meat. I'm a vegetarian."  
  
Monica looked at the hamburger thawing in the sink. "Oh."  
  
"I, I'm sorry."  
  
"Oh, don't be, no need." Monica began wrapping up the hamburger again. "I'll make a cheese and pasta dish instead, is that all right?"  
  
"Sure! Thanks Monica!"  
  
Monica watched Phoebe carry the lamp into her room. This had been her third piece of furniture acquired so far today, the other two items being a small table and a folding chair. It wasn't much, but Monica suspected it was the largest number of possessions Phoebe had owned in years.  
  
Well, more cheese and a different kind of sauce. Monica opened the refrigerator, pulling out some more items, her mind thinking fast. She preferred to have her menus prepared in advance but at the same time enjoyed the challenge of whipping something together on the spot.  
  
She was deep into preparations when there was a knock at the door. A surprise, since there hadn't been much of that in the past couple of weeks. Probably a courtesy aimed at her new roommate. "It's open!" Monica yelled out.  
  
Chandler, Ross, and Kip all entered en masse. Monica smiled at them, especially Kip. "Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Get your own drinks in the meantime, but please drink them at the table if you're going to. Ross, how about setting out the plates?"  
  
"How about it?" But it was only a token protest, a reflex action more than likely, as Ross did in fact begin setting the table. Kip walked over to the couch, sat down, and turned on the television.  
  
Chandler just stood there, looking around. "So where is she?"  
  
"She's in her bedroom. She'll probably be out in a minute." Monica paused in her preparations, looked at Chandler. "Go easy on the jokes for just a bit, okay? Let her get used to you first."  
  
"Uh, okay." Chandler looked nonplussed. "I wasn't planning on being mean to her or anything."  
  
"I know." Monica found herself blushing slightly. She went back to fixing dinner.  
  
This didn't go unnoticed by Chandler. He walked into the kitchen, leaned against the counter. "You're thinking about the first time we met, aren't you?"  
  
To her dismay, the blush on Monica's cheeks deepened. She tried to hide it by keeping her head turned as she stirred the sauce.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Chandler shuffled uncomfortably. "Okay, okay, I wasn't exactly nice to you. I, I kinda laughed at you."  
  
"And did that bouncy thing when I sat on the couch," Monica said before she could stop herself.  
  
"Oh, yeah." Chandler squirmed some more. "I was, I really hated Thanksgiving and, and I wanted everyone else to hate it too. I'm always in a terrible bad mood around the holidays, and, and I acted like a jerk because of it. I wasn't really aware of it at the time, but Ross really let me have it afterwards."  
  
Monica looked over at the table in surprise. Ross was putting silverware around the plates. He briefly met Monica's eyes and looked away, as if embarrassed.  
  
"Oh." Interesting. There were things she was still learning about the brother she had sometimes loved but had mostly hated during her childhood.  
  
"Point is, it kinda opened my eyes," Chandler continued. "I'll try not to be so mean to someone's face ever again."  
  
"Okay." Monica went back to her sauce.  
  
Chandler bit his lip. "Especially with my friends. And with their friends, too."  
  
"Okay," Monica repeated.  
  
Silence for a few seconds. "Which means... I'm sorry."  
  
Monica looked up into his face. She managed a smile and spoke in a more gentle tone of voice. "Okay."  
  
"Okay," Chandler said with relief.  
  
The bedroom door opened and Phoebe came out. Monica turned around and tried to take in everyone's expression at once. The guys didn't have any obviously negative reactions, which was good. Phoebe looked a little nervous but she still managed a smile. "Hello."  
  
Monica took over. "Phoebe, I'd like you to meet my brother Ross and our neighbors across the hall, Kip and Chandler. Everyone, this is my new roommate Phoebe."  
  
The guys all made various exclamations of greeting. Phoebe rubbed the palm of one hand with the thumb of the other as she smiled back at them.  
  
"Dinner's ready," Monica decided to announce. "Sit down."  
  
They came to the kitchen table, which was barely big enough for the five of them. Monica mentally noted she'd have to get a bigger one. She combined the sauce with the noodles and served it quickly. Ross sniffed at it dubiously and both Kip and Chandler poked at it with their forks, but Phoebe immediately lay to with a gusto. Monica sat down and helped herself to the salad while everyone else took cautious bites. No one complained, which from Ross especially was high praise.  
  
"So, Phoebe," Ross said companionably. "Tell us about yourself."  
  
"Mmm." Phoebe swallowed and took a sip of water. "My father ran out on my mother before I was born, and my stepfather was in and out of jail for years - mostly in, he's in now - and my mother decided to kill herself when I was fourteen, so I ran away and lived on the street until I moved in here!" She beamed at Ross.  
  
Ross stared back at her for several seconds, and Monica held her breath. Ross blinked once, twice. "Anyway... what do you do now?"  
  
"Aromatherapy!" Phoebe said happily. "I've been filling in for other therapists who are sick, or taking walk-ins. But Deborah says people like me so much she's going to start setting appointments for me!"  
  
Monica let out her breath. Ross had more tact and poise than she'd ever given him credit for. Before.  
  
"Does that pay well, aromatherapy?" Chandler was all polite interest, again to Monica's relief.  
  
"Oh yeah, it's much better than mugging people." Phoebe brought herself up short. "Or so I've heard. Uh, anyway, all I need now is to save up for a bed."  
  
"A bed?" Kip looked at her quizzically. "You don't even have a bed?"  
  
Surreptitiously, Monica kicked Kip under the table. He winced but didn't look away from Phoebe.  
  
"Well, no, they're kind of expensive, more expensive than I thought."  
  
"Yeah, it's a crime what they charge for mattresses these days," Ross commented. "If you want, I'll ask around the museum to see if anyone has one for sale cheap."  
  
"The museum?" Phoebe cocked her head at Ross. "MOMA?"  
  
"No, it's not an art museum. I'm a paleontologist, I help set up dinosaur exhibits and the like."  
  
"Oooh, dinosaurs. Did they really exist?"  
  
"Uh, of course they did."  
  
"I watched Land of the Lost as a kid. Those poor children, stuck in that place without their mother."  
  
"That, that place didn't really exist."  
  
"Oh. Too bad, that could have answered a lot of your questions."  
  
"Um... yeah, I suppose it could have."  
  
Phoebe grinned at him, then turned to Chandler. "What do you do?"  
  
"I played Chaka on Land of the Lost."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Uh, not really. But while I'm at work I sometimes wish a giant dinosaur would try to eat me."  
  
"Wow! You too?"  
  
Monica found herself mildly amused by the sight of Chandler rendered temporarily speechless. She was guessing this was the first time his witticisms had been taken completely seriously. "So," he finally managed to get out. "Aromatherapy, huh?"  
  
"Yup!" Phoebe seemed to effortlessly flow in whatever direction the conversation took. "It's all about reading people's auras and finding the combination of aroma and massage to cleanse them properly."  
  
"Auras." Kip looked skeptical. "You mean you can see little glowing fields of energy around all of us?"  
  
"Well, there's seeing and then there's seeing." Phoebe frowned at the air above Kip. "Yours is all weird, kinda tangled up in itself. You really should come down to where I work and let me straighten it out."  
  
"Oh really," Kip said with obvious disbelief.  
  
"Yeah." Phoebe looked over at Chandler's. "Yours is mostly fine, kinda pulsates, you know, gets all big and diffuse, then small and dense."  
  
"Uh huh." Chandler, to Monica's eyes, was dying to respond with a joke and was only controlling himself with great difficulty.  
  
Phoebe turned to Ross. "Yours is a lot like Monica's, except yours is darker, murkier. Is something bothering you?"  
  
Ross blinked back at her. "No. Not, not... I'm fine."  
  
Phoebe's forehead furrowed slightly. "Really? I can clean it for you, really I can, but it will just get murky again unless whatever it is that's making it dark goes away."  
  
Ross thinned his lips, and Monica could see that he was getting irritated. But, like Chandler, he seemed to bring it under control. "I... I appreciate the offer. I think, though, for now I'll take care of my own aura."  
  
"Okay." Phoebe seemed to take that in stride. "Just remember I live with your sister, I'm always available."  
  
"So, Phoebe," Chandler said with a casual air, "tell us what a typical session of aromatherapy is like."  
  
Phoebe launched into a description, and Monica took the time to eat and watch. Phoebe was a very animated talker, especially her face, which was the most expressive Monica had ever seen. Smiles were frequent, as she had already begun to notice. And the men, she noticed, were smiling in return. It was hard not to get caught up in Phoebe's effervescence. Which, Monica thought, was probably a big reason why she had picked Phoebe over Meghan.  
  
When everyone seemed more-or-less down with eating, Monica stood up and triggered a frenzy of dish-clearing by everyone else.  
  
Phoebe just sat and watched as everyone bussed the dishes and put away the condiments. Monica surreptitiously studied Phoebe's expression, which had drifted back towards a kind of blank interest.  
  
Monica began filling the sink with hot soapy water. At that, Phoebe sprang to her feet and bounced to Monica's side. "Let me! Let me!"  
  
Monica smiled slightly. "That's all right. I got this."  
  
"But you made me dinner, I want to do my fair share."  
  
"You can put them away after they've dried."  
  
"But that's nothing, let me clean for you."  
  
"You'll need to learn something about Monica right away," Ross said with a smile. "No one cleans for her. No one. There is exactly one person she trusts enough to clean her apartment, and that is Monica Geller."  
  
"Oh? Can't, can't Phoebe Buffay be trusted to, y'know, wipe a counter or something?"  
  
"Chandler Bing once wiped a counter," Chandler interjected. "He wiped the crumbs into his hand, then let the crumbs fall to the floor, after which Chandler Bing was nearly unmanned by Monica Geller."  
  
"Monica Geller calls for an immediate end to the use of last names." Monica made an effort to fight off the irritation. "Look, Phoebe, I truly do appreciate the offer, but I would feel more comfortable washing the dishes. Why don't you escort our guests to the living room."  
  
"Ooh, fun." Phoebe whirled and curtseyed. "This way, gentlemen, to the Room of the Living."  
  
"Thank God. Before dinner I spent fifteen minutes in the Bathroom of the Mostly Dead." Chandler walked over to the couch and flopped into it. "So, who wants to watch Cop Rock? Cops breaking out into song and dance routines, what could go wrong?"  
  
"I used to know a cop who would sing, mostly nursery rhymes though," Phoebe said as she sat in a chair. "He liked to sing Litte Miss Muffet to prostitutes and Mary Had a Little Lamb to runaways."  
  
"Not that you would know anything about that, eh?" Kip grinned.  
  
"I'd know nothing about prostitution, no." Phoebe looked down at her feet.  
  
Ross shot Kip a look before speaking to Phoebe. "Can you sing?"  
  
Phoebe met Ross's eyes and smiled widely. "Yes! I write songs and sing them, I used to play them for, uh, the people who slept near me."  
  
"Well, give us a song then," Kip said cheerily.  
  
"Oh, I can't, I simply can't, not without a guitar. I should buy a guitar!"  
  
"And a bed?" Ross began sounding paternal again. "You really should prioritize your buying decisions. Get a bed first, then you can see about getting a guitar."  
  
"Oh." Phoebe looked disappointed. "I, I suppose I should. I, I've never really had to... to manage money before."  
  
"I can help with that." Monica wiped off her hands, glad that she could now fully concentrate on the conversation instead of peeking constantly over her shoulder. She walked into the living room and sat down on the couch next to Kip. "We can find a good used bed and good used guitar and see how much they cost. Then we can factor that in with how much your take-home pay is, factor in your living expenses, and build the rest of the spreadsheet from there."  
  
"Monica's also very fussy about money," Ross said to Phoebe. "So she'd be perfect for helping you manage your finances."  
  
"Th-thanks," Phoebe said uncertainly. "I... I want... so much... to..." Phoebe looked over at Chandler. "So, the cops actually sing?"  
  
"Yup!" Chandler responded quickly, grabbing the remote control. "It's so hideous it's mesmerizing."  
  
Monica settled in to watch. There was much jeering at the show, and Phoebe effortlessly joined in with the banter. Monica felt herself relaxing more and more. She'd been worried that no one would be able to deal with her roommate, and to see that they all seemed to get along meant that her life was going to be just a tad easier now.  
  
She looked at Kip out of the corner of her eye and smiled. Perhaps, with a little persuasion, life could become even more pleasant.

* * *

Monica took a deep breath. The wind was strong today, blowing away much of the urban smell from the city. She could almost imagine she was on top of a mountain somewhere, instead of walking down a Manhattan side street.  
  
She paused at one window to look at the dresses displayed. This was another relatively new experience for her; before, she'd avoided looking at mannequins because they clothing they wore ended up looking vastly different when she tried them on. Now, however, they were practically identical, and Monica felt a perverse sort of pride in being able to favorably compare herself to a mannequin.  
  
A couple walked up behind her. The woman spoke in a friendly tone of voice. "The red one would look fabulous on you, Monica."  
  
Monica turned her head. "Thanks, Carol. But when would I wear it? The restaurant frowns on its chefs wearing strapless gowns."  
  
Ross chuckled. "Yeah, but that's never stopped you from buying clothes before. Honey, you should have seen the buying binge she and her friend went on after she lost all her weight."  
  
"Oh, that must have been fun." Carol grinned. "I wish I had been there."  
  
Monica smiled. It had been a heady experience. Rachel had dragged her through dozens of stores and they had tried on hundreds of different kinds of clothes. She had never power-shopped like that before, and it had been exhilarating. It remained one of her fondest memories of her friendship with Rachel, despite the fact that they had begun drifting apart soon afterwards.  
  
"Want to go try it on?" Carol asked.  
  
"Nah." Monica turned away from the window. "I don't have a lot of money to waste right now."  
  
"I thought that after you got a roommate you'd have more money." Ross sounded surprised.  
  
"If I were still working eleven hours a day, five days a week, then yeah. But I've cut back on my hours. I rotate between working three and four days a week, which is nice because I have more time to myself. But it also means I'm not making as much."  
  
Carol looked at Monica curiously. "I thought chefs - real chefs - were salaried, not hourly."  
  
"Real chefs are, yeah. But I'm just an assistant chef, and there's life a dozen of us at the restaurant. If I ever make head chef, then yeah, I'll get a salary."  
  
"Will that be soon?" Ross asked.  
  
"Not for years. But I'm on track, I got a compliment on a Caesar salad I made last week."  
  
"Great." Carol squeezed Monica's shoulder briefly. "You're going to be a fabulous head chef one day, I just know it."  
  
Monica felt a foolish smile grow on her lips. And it wasn't just Carol's words of encouragement. Ross and Carol had joined her on this shopping trip, ostensibly to help her find a coffee table for the apartment. But when Ross had volunteered to come along and bring Carol, Monica had sensed that he was desperate for opportunities to spend time with his wife. It seemed to be working, because Ross and Carol were walking hand in hand and seemed perfectly relaxed, which Monica had not seen in them for a long time.  
  
All was good and right with the world, or as good and right as it could be.  
  
"So, do you have any male prospects, Monica?" Carol grinned at her. "I bet they'd like to see you in that dress."  
  
Monica chuckled. "Maybe. There's this guy across the hall. Kip, you met him."  
  
"Kip." Ross shook his head. "Are you sure? He seems like... like kind of a nothing to me."  
  
"Don't say things like that," Carol said crossly. "It's a guy Monica's interested in, don't rush to judgment."  
  
"I'm not. I've hung out with the guy for a couple of months now. He's okay, but he never really has anything interesting to say."  
  
"To you, maybe. But Monica may see things differently."  
  
"Hey, I grew up with her, I know what Monica finds interesting."  
  
"Oh, do you? How can you possibly know what a woman thinks and feels?"  
  
Monica felt a real panic rising. Ross and Carol were both snapping at each other, and the good mood of a few seconds ago had vanished. She had to put a stop to this somehow. "Hey, c'mon you two, let me be worried about Kip. Look, Ross, that sweater would look great on you. You should try it on!"  
  
Ross broke eye contact with Carol and followed Monica's pointed finger to a display in a men's store across the street. "I, I don't need a sweater."  
  
"Oh, you never think you need new clothes. C'mon, give it a try." Monica walked across the street, forcing the others to follow her. By the time she had made her way to the back of the store where the sweaters were, Ross and Carol had caught up. They weren't holding hands any more, Monica was dismayed to notice.  
  
Ross poked disinterestedly through the folded sweaters on the table, and Monica quickly grabbed three different one. "Here, go try these on."  
  
Ross frowned. "I, I really don't-"  
  
"Shut up and do it now!" Monica tried to keep her tone playful, but to her ears it sounded strained. Ross hesitated, then with a sigh took the sweaters and headed off towards the dressing room.  
  
Monica looked after him, feeling strange. She wanted him to be happy, to love his life as much as she sometimes envied it. There was a time - and not too long ago - that she would have felt a kind of satisfaction and vindication out of seeing him miserable. Now, however, she felt terrible for him.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Monica turned to look at Carol.  
  
She was idly flipping through shirts on a rack. "You, you shouldn't have been exposed to that. I didn't mean for us to spoil your day off."  
  
Monica chewed her lip for a second, then dared to ask a question. "What's happening? You guys seemed so happy at the wedding."  
  
A pained look crossed Carol's face. "I was happy. I can't explain what... it's just... there's something missing. I don't know what it is, I don't know where it came from, but I think it's always been lacking. I just ignored it, thinking I was just nervous about getting married so young. But we've been married for a while and... and it's still missing. I really wish I could understand it."  
  
Monica felt her heart dropping even further into the pit of her stomach. "Is, is there anything I can do?"  
  
Carol looked at her and smiled slightly. "I appreciate the offer, but... but you're his sister. You're too close to him. I need, I need perspective."  
  
"Oh." A harsh but fair assessment. "I just want to help."  
  
"I know. Ross's family is one of the things I love about him. You care for each other so much." Carol looked over towards the dressing room. "I wanted that in my life, too. I wanted people who cared for me and loved me. And I have that with Ross, he loves me dearly, and I love him too. But it's not enough."  
  
Carol looked back at Monica, and there were tears in her eyes. "I'm such a lousy selfish woman, aren't I? He's everything I asked for in a husband, but I want something more and I can't even tell him what that is. So I make our lives miserable as a result. He deserves better."  
  
Monica swallowed, then reached out to grab Carol's hands. "Hey, don't say that. I always thought that he was lucky to have you. I have faith in you. I know that in time you'll work things out with Ross. Just... just be patient with him. And, and yourself, too."  
  
Carol blinked and extracted her hands to wipe her eyes. "I, I hope you're right. Sometimes, though..."  
  
Monica waited, but Carol didn't finish the thought. Ross came back, wearing one of the sweaters. He had a half-smile on his face. "Y'know, this really doesn't look bad. Think I should get the blue or the gray?"  
  
With an effort, Monica looked at the sweater. "They're both good, but the gray would be go with most of your slacks."  
  
"Hmm." Ross looked at Carol. "Sweetie, what you do you think?"  
  
Carol managed a good smile. "It looks quite handsome on you. Maybe you should get both."  
  
"Now there's an idea." Ross leaned in, kissed Carol on the cheek, then went back towards the dressing room.  
  
Carol sighed, the smile deflating but not quite going away. She met Monica's eyes. "Thank you for caring. I've felt so alone sometimes. I'll try, I'll really try, for Ross and for you."  
  
Monica pursed her lips. "Do it for yourself. That's more important."  
  
Carol nodded. "I'm going to get some coffee. Want some?"  
  
"No thank you." Monica watched Carol turn and leave the store.  
  
Wow. Monica stood by the sweaters and once again felt adrift in the world. Nothing good seemed sustainable. It almost seemed like every good thing around her was doomed to failure. She just knew that she'd come home one day to find her roommate had swallowed a bunch of pills, or that Chandler and Kip had moved to Texas, or that the building had burned to the ground.  
  
Or to find out that Ross and Carol had gotten divorced.  
  
Her chest tightened suddenly at the sight of Ross emerging from the dressing room again. Monica made a vow, on the spot, to do whatever she could to help Ross.  
  
Ross took two sweaters to the counter and Monica followed behind and thought of weddings and family and joy and happiness. She fervently hoped that all of those things could find a way to coexist.

* * *

(to be continued) 


	10. Monica and New Beginnings

Monica leaned over the soup and took a good whiff. It smelled just fine, although Monica was tempted to add more pepper. She decided to let it simmer another minute more and make up her mind then.  
  
She stepped back, picked up a towel, and carefully dabbed the perspiration from her face. Working in a large kitchen was sweaty work, and Monica was not about to let a drop of sweat poison any of the food she was making. The other chefs had at first teased her about it but now seemed to accept it as one of her quirks. She hoped someday she'd be made head chef just so she could show them exactly how quirky she could be about cleanliness.  
  
Monica looked around for other things to clean or quickly prepare while she waited for the soup. She got the eye of another assistant chef who was tossing a salad. The other chef smiled. "I'm trying to be as neat as I can."  
  
"I know." Monica flashed a smile. "Just checking, Frannie."  
  
Frannie quickly stowed the salad away and walked up next to Monica. "What are you doing to the soup?"  
  
"Er, nothing." Monica took another whiff. "I'm just letting it simmer a bit so that the flavor gets soaked in."  
  
Frannie nodded. "You're such a perfectionist, Monica, I always admired that about you. I'm just not sure this is the best place for it. They like things done fast and good, not slow and perfect."  
  
"Well, they'll just have to wait," Monica said firmly. "When-"  
  
"Geller!"  
  
Monica couldn't help cringing as she turned towards the office door. That had been the voice of the shift manager, a man who she had yet to see cook a single thing. He was irritating at best, and today he seemed to be in a much worse mood. "Yes, Mr. Shurtleff?"  
  
He stormed up to her, thrust a comment card in her face. "What's the meaning of this?"  
  
Monica had to practically cross her eyes to read it. "Looks like they enjoyed the manicotti."  
  
"And what else!"  
  
"Uh, nothing."  
  
"What about the cheese?"  
  
"Um... loved the mizithra, it says."  
  
Triumphantly, Shurtleff lowered the comment card. "Does our recipe call for mizithra cheese on the manicotti?"  
  
"Well, no. But I thought it would bring out the flavor of-"  
  
"We have a recipe, Geller, prepared by people with more experience than you," Shurtleff interrupted. "You are to stick to that recipe from now on. Do you know what it would do to our costs to add mizithra to all our pasta dishes?"  
  
"I, I don't use it in all our pasta dishes, but the manicotti has-"  
  
"Enough of your excuses," Shurtleff thundered. "You stick to the recipes from this point forward or you find yourself another job. Is that clear?"  
  
Monica felt like she was shrinking. She managed a meek, "Yes, Mr. Shurtleff."  
  
"Get out of my restaurant." He whirled and stalked back to his office.  
  
Monica stood there, her cheeks burning. She was afraid to breathe for fear of bursting out crying.  
  
A hand reached up, squeezed her shoulder. "Ignore him, he's a jerk who doesn't know how to cook, everyone knows that. Take the rest of the day off, I'll handle the soup."  
  
Monica looked over at Frannie and managed a nod. "Th-thanks." She managed a steady walk out of the kitchen, feeling everyone's eyes on her the whole time.  
  
Once she got outside she stood in the cold evening breeze. It was past ten at night but the city was still busy and bustling, a little to her relief. After a moment she began walking home.  
  
The whole while she replayed the incident in her head. A thousand things she should have said sprang to mind. It wasn't his restaurant, he was just a shift manager, and a lousy one at that. Hadn't he noticed that the comment about the mizithra came on a positive comment card, and that usually meant more business for the restaurant? Didn't he trust the chefs that worked for him to handle the cooking using the best means at their disposal?  
  
Monica had managed to convert the shame to a kind of righteous anger by the time she walked up the apartment building. Tomorrow was payday, and while she didn't have to work she could go down and pick up her paycheck and talk to the real owner of the restaurant. Then she'd give him what-for. Maybe.  
  
She opened the apartment door and stopped dead in her tracks. All the cushions had been removed from the couches and chairs and piled into the center of the living room. Gritting her teeth, Monica slammed the door closed and practically ran to the living room. Doing so allowed her to see that the cushions had been formed into some kind of structure that had a hollow space in the center. In that center, lying on her stomach with her head propped on her hands was Phoebe.  
  
"What's the meaning of this!" The words were an echo of something someone else had said to her but Monica didn't care at the moment. She was so angry she was almost trembling.  
  
Phoebe looked up at her. "Oh, hi. Are you a deer?"  
  
"A what?"  
  
"A deer. See, I'm a bear cub and I've prepared this cave so I can hibernate for the winter. But it's only just begun to snow, and maybe my friend the deer has come to visit before I go to sleep."  
  
Monica gaped, furious and astounded. Phoebe just looked up her with a look of pure and simple innocence. Monica wanted to strangle the innocence right out of Phoebe.  
  
Except Phoebe wasn't innocent. Monica paused, studying the woman who had built a bear cave out of cushions. Phoebe had seen her mother kill herself and had been homeless for years afterwards. She'd had her innocence ripped out of her at fourteen. Monica could only guess at what had happened to a young, attractive woman like Phoebe during her homeless years.  
  
So. Either she had retreated to a child-like persona in order to cope with a harsh and unforgiving world, or now that she had a home again she was trying to recapture some of her childhood.  
  
Either way, Phoebe didn't need to be yelled at just now. No matter how bad a mood Monica was in.  
  
Slowly, Monica sank to her knees. "I, I could be a deer."  
  
"Oh, yay." Phoebe smiled. "Are you going to hibernate, too?"  
  
"Uh, deer, deer don't hibernate. I, I'm just going to have to munch on a few leaves during the winter."  
  
"Oh, that's too bad." Phoebe pouted, then brightened. "Maybe I have some berries stashed away that I can share with you!"  
  
"That... that would be nice."  
  
Monica did her best to respond to Phoebe's world of bear cubs and deer. It was hard, perhaps the hardest thing she had ever done in her life. But for the sake of innocence lost, Monica kept playing with Phoebe.

* * *

Monica opened the apartment door, fearing what she'd find. Phoebe was there, but just sitting on the floor in front of the television. Phoebe looked over he shoulder and smiled at Monica. "Hi? How'd it go at work?"  
  
"Well, good and bad." Monica hung up her coat. "I still have a job, but they're transferring me to the lunch shift."  
  
"Oh. Isn't that better? I mean, you don't have to work until two in the morning any more."  
  
"The hours are better, yeah, but the dinner shift has more prestige. People who are promoted to head chef always come from the dinner crew."  
  
"Oh." Phoebe seemed to think that over. "Want me to give you a massage? I can clean your aura so you'll feel better."  
  
Monica tried not to grimace. She was in no mood to deal with Phoebe's new-age nonsense. She'd put out extraordinary effort last night in dealing with the bear cub thing; she felt perfectly justified in blowing off Phoebe now. "No thanks. Are Chandler and Kip coming for dinner."  
  
"I don't know." Phoebe turned back to the television. "I don't think Chandler's back from work yet."  
  
Monica nodded and left the apartment. She knocked on the door opposite, which was soon answered by Kip, who smiled to see her. "Hey, come on in."  
  
"Thanks." Monica wandered in, her eyes automatically looking around the apartment. As always, she was surprised at how neat it was, relatively speaking. For all Chandler's jokes about their lack of cleanliness standards, he and Kip managed a moderately dust-free environment. Still, Monica saw a hundred things she would have immediately begun cleaning before declaring the apartment fit to live in.  
  
"Sit down, make yourself comfortable." Kip sat on the couch and patted the cushion next to him.  
  
Monica responded with alacrity, sitting quite close to him but not quite touching him. "I, I was just wondering if you two are coming over for dinner tonight."  
  
"Were you?" Kip looked at her with a sympathetic puzzled frown. "You usually just call us or wait until we arrive before fixing dinner."  
  
"Well, maybe." Monica wrung her hands. "I, I just wanted to... to talk to a friendly face, I guess."  
  
"And Phoebe isn't friendly?"  
  
"Oh, she's friendly. But, but sometimes it takes too much work." Monica found the words spilling out. "She's so bright and happy and joyful, most of the time, but she acts like such a child. And, and I don't want to be her mother."  
  
Kip nodded. "You want someone to take care of you."  
  
Monica looked up into his eyes. "Yes. Just once in a while, yes, I'd like to be the one someone else has to comfort."  
  
Kip put his arm around her shoulders and smiled. "Look no further. Whatever happens to you, I'm willing to help you find what you need. Just say the word."  
  
"Th-thank you." Monica suddenly felt breathless. "I, I've wanted to say the word for a long time."  
  
Kip just looked at her, with that handsome face and those gorgeous eyes. He moved his face slightly towards hers and then suddenly they were kissing passionately, and Monica had her arms around his back and her tongue fighting his for all it was worth.  
  
She felt light-headed, wonderful, good. So Monica barely noticed when the front door of the apartment was opened, and she wasn't exactly certain how much time passed before it closed again. She was acutely aware of the feeling of Kip's lips on hers, his chest pressed against hers, his hand stroking her arm, her anticipation growing as to where it would travel to next.  
  
With great reluctance, with her body screaming for more, Monica broke off the kiss and pushed Kip away. "We can't do this."  
  
"Uh, uh, sure we can." Kip's eyes were practically on fire. "It sure seemed like something you needed."  
  
"It was. It is." She placed the palm of one hand on his cheek. "But we can't keep Chandler out of his own apartment. That isn't right. He's our friend."  
  
"If he's our friend, he'll understand." Kip leaned forward again.  
  
Monica used her free hand to keep him at bay. "Not like this. I don't, I don't want him to ever feel like we're excluding him. He, he has to feel comfortable coming into his apartment whenever he wants. We, we can do this some other place, some other time."  
  
Kip looked irritated but let out a sigh. "All right. Where and when?"  
  
"I'll call you later tonight. We'll set something up." Monica put her other hand on his face. "Okay?"  
  
Kip smiled. "Okay."  
  
Monica smiled back and drew him in for one last, lingering kiss. Then she stood and walked out of the apartment, feeling alive and wonderful and regretful.  
  
She stopped in front of her apartment and found that a bit of shame had crept in. Monica hoped Chandler had come here instead, and hoped he wasn't angry. She wasn't certain how she'd react to his anger and didn't want to find out.  
  
Quietly, Monica opened the apartment door. Phoebe was still watching television and Chandler was sitting on the arm of the chair directly behind her. They were watching a cartoon involving tiny blue people and making some sort of game out of it.  
  
"A taxidermist?" Chandler asked.  
  
"Stuffy Smurf!" Phoebe replied instantly. "A dentist?"  
  
"Ouch Smurf. A dog-trainer?"  
  
"Heel Smurf! An airplane pilot?"  
  
Chandler frowned as Monica walked up behind him. She ventured, "Flyboy Smurf?"  
  
His head snapped around. Phoebe kept watching television as she said, "Ooh, that's good. Now you come up with one."  
  
Monica found herself matching gazes with Chandler. He looked surprised. And, maybe, just a touch pleased and gratified. Monica's smile was for him as she said to Phoebe, "A chef?"  
  
"Monica Smurf!" Phoebe paused. "Er, Monica Smurfette, I guess."  
  
Chandler grinned. "I like Monica Smurfette. A lot."  
  
"Cool." Phoebe was still watching the television. "A deep-sea diver?"  
  
Monica sat in the chair that Chandler was perched on. She reached up gripped his arm in a friendly fashion. "Jacques Cousteau Smurf, do you think, Chandler?"  
  
"Nah," he said in a friendly manner. "Sharkbait Smurf."  
  
Monica joined Phoebe in laughing, and Monica knew she had done the right thing. Being with these people was almost as good a feeling as being with Kip.  
  
Perhaps even better.  
  
Monica put thoughts of Kip out of her head for now and let herself have fun with Phoebe and Chandler.

* * *

(to be continued)  
  
Author's Notes: Just to be absolutely clear, this is not an alternate universe story. This is all about stuff that happened before the series started, trying best to stick with that continuity. So that means that Monica and Kip are destined for each other, sorry to say. :(


	11. Monica and her Presents

The air was cold, and Monica took a deep breath. Snow had been scarce this year, skipping Christmas but arriving just in time for New Year's. Not much had formed on the balcony, which through some fluke in architecture was sheltered from the wind. But Monica, leaning forward, could see the street below covered with it, as well as revelers getting ready. 

Arms slipped around her from behind. Monica smiled widely, grateful for both the warmth and the intimacy. "Nineteen ninety-one," she said somewhat breathlessly.

"In an hour or so anyway." Kip's lips brushed her ear. "Going to stay out here until then?"

"Nah, way too cold for that."

"Well, we could generate some heat, I'm sure."

Monica smiled, turned in his arms, and kissed him. It had been a few weeks and every kiss was still full of energy and passion. This was a new experience for her, and she found that she loved it, utterly.

She did manage to break it off, well aware that everyone could see them from inside. "C'mon," Monica said dreamily, walking towards the window. Kip trailed behind with an exaggerated sigh of disappointment, still clasping her hand.

Monica stepped into the apartment. Ross was grabbing beers from the refrigerator while Phoebe and Chandler sat on the couch. "Do we have to watch this?" Chandler was saying plaintively.

"Of course we do," Monica said. "It's Dick Clark. You always watch Dick Clark on New Year's."

"No, you watch Dick Clark. I go out and try to meet actual living people."

Ross handed Chandler a beer. "I remember our sophomore year-"

"Shut up! All I can say is that after a keg or two, all mannequins begin to look amazingly life-like!"

Monica laughed and sat in the love seat. Kip leaned against the arm of the chair, picking up his beer from the coffee table. "So, Phoebe, is this your first New Year's Eve indoors?"

"No." Phoebe lifted her eyes from the television. "Last year a bunch of us held a party in a subway station. Lots of people joined in, even those who had real homes."

"Sounds fun," Ross said. "We should do that."

"I prefer staying inside," Chandler said. "Too cold and yucky out there."

Monica ignored all that, watching Phoebe. Her roommate had settled in and had slowly put together something that looked like an actual bedroom, complete with bed and dresser which Ross had helped her obtain. Perhaps more importantly, Phoebe had easily fit in with the group. Ross and Chandler had quickly learned to adapt to Phoebe's non sequiturs and seemed to enjoy talking to her. In turn, Phoebe greeted each of them warmly and had readily accepted them as frequent visitors.

The only person Phoebe didn't seem to like was Kip. He alone seemed to be the one person she never smiled at. Like right now, she was just looking steadily at him with a blank face. Monica quailed a bit inside; she wanted everyone to like Kip as much as she did, and wished Phoebe would warm up to him just a little bit.

Chandler, meantime, had launched a spirited discussion of disco dancing versus breakdancing vis-à-vis which was the most stupid-looking. Monica, who had the opinion that both were actually okay, didn't much participate and instead played with Kip's fingers as he argued the merits of Deney Terrio.

"Ten minutes," Ross abruptly announced, pointing towards the television screen.

"All right, we have to decide who kisses whom." Chandler looked around the room. "I'm out because I have yet to actually kiss a woman on New Year's and I don't want to break the streak. Kip, you take Phoebe because you both have the letter 'p' in your names. Ross, that leaves you with Monica, sorry to say."

Monica had just enough reach to slap the back of Chandler's head.

Ross chuckled. "Sorry, but I'm married."

Chandler rubbed his head. "And if you weren't, then your sister would be acceptable?" That earned him another, harder headslap.

"Where is Carol?" Phoebe looked over at Ross. "I was hoping to actually meet her."

"She, she's spending time with her parents. She usually spends Christmas with them and this year she stayed on for New Year's, too." Pain crossed Ross's face briefly. "She'll be back in a couple of days."

Monica studied Ross, wishing she knew what to say. She'd only seen Ross and Carol together a couple of times since the shopping trip, and they had seemed all right. It truly seemed like they were both making a serious attempt to make the marriage work, and appeared to be making progress. Monica wasn't certain if this trip represented a setback for Carol and Ross. She hoped not.

Chandler attempted another joke. "When she comes back, tell her to bring a sister so I can kiss her next New Year's. Ow! You're giving me a concussion, Mon!"

"You've earned one," Monica said crossly. She appreciated the fact that Chandler was attempting to distract Ross but felt he needed to pick different subject material. Still, she couldn't quite keep her face from expressing some of the humor she was feeling.

"Ooh! Ooh, it's time!" Phoebe jumped to her feet. "Fifty-nine! Fifty-eight! Fifty-seven!"

With a smile, Monica joined everyone else in counting down. When the count reached zero, Kip leaned down and they kissed, a long lingering kiss that made Monica want to throw everyone out of the apartment immediately.

Instead, she pushed Kip away after a few seconds and clinked her beer bottle with everyone else's. "So, any resolutions?"

"Kiss everyone's sister!" Chandler said promptly.

"Dude," Ross said.

Chandler actually blushed and looked at Monica and Kip. "I didn't mean... I meant... Kip, hi, my name is Chandler, I'll be best man at your wedding as soon as I've finished having my vocal cords cut."

Kip grinned. "Don't worry about it, man."

"A cat!" Phoebe beamed. "I want to adopt a cat this year."

Monica frowned. "Phoebe, I said no pets."

"Oh? Well, okay, don't ever look in my closet then."

"What's in your closet?"

"I think the question should be, what isn't in my closet?"

"Phoebe!" Monica brought herself short as the corners of Phoebe's mouth twitched. "Ah, okay, ha ha."

Everyone else laughed. Monica, despite herself, laughed as well. And it didn't feel bad; the fact that Phoebe felt comfortable enough to tease Monica had to be a good sign.

Monica stood up. "Okay, well, time for presents."

"Presents?" Ross looked confused. "What presents?"

"Well, Phoebe reminded me a few days ago that we forgot to celebrate Christmas."

"We did? We do? Since, since when do we..." Ross trailed off.

"I'm guessing since we started having friends like Kip and Phoebe and Chandler." Monica looked Ross in the eye and he looked away after a couple of seconds. She nodded in confirmation of her victory. "So this year it'll be Christmas in January, and next year we'll do it right, with a tree and everything."

"A tree!" Phoebe looked wide-eyed at Monica. "You're not going to kill a tree, are you?"

"Not, not personally. Wait here." She rushed into her bedroom before the conversation could go in directions she wasn't sure she wanted to pursue. She grabbed a few bags, then headed back out into the living room. She handed one each to Kip, Chandler, and Ross.

Chandler frowned. "I, uh, didn't get you anything."

"I know, I'd be amazed if you did. Just open it."

"Okay." Chandler reached inside, pulled out a notepad and mechanical pencil. He stared at them curiously.

"Okay, it may look cheap, but that's a seriously good pencil," Monica said somewhat defensively.

Chandler looked up at her. "To inspire me to write?"

Monica nodded, pleased he understood. "Maybe you can just jot stuff down while watching television. Anything to help get you going."

"Uh, thanks." His smile only look slightly forced, which was not as good as she had hoped for but better than she had feared. "Thanks, Monica."

Ross, meantime, was frowning at his gift. "A subway pass?"

"Yeah. So you can come over as often as you want and not have to worry about change. For a month, anyway."

Ross nodded in appreciation. "Thanks, Mon." He put it into his wallet.

Kip had been waiting patiently, but now he opened his bag. "Master the MCAT."

"Yeah." Monica beamed at him. "If you study enough and study the right things, you can get a good score on your MCAT and get into medical school easy. If you want to be a doctor."

Kip looked at Monica and smiled. "Do you want me to be a doctor?"

"I want you to be whatever you want to be." Monica leaned down, kissed him briefly, stood up again. "But if that whatever turns out to be a doctor, I wouldn't mind so much."

Ross and Chandler chuckled. Kip nodded, as if answered, and put the book back into the bag. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Monica looked around. "Glad you all liked it."

Chandler frowned, which made Monica focus on him. He gestured towards Phoebe in a manner that was probably intended to be subtle but utterly failed to be so.

"Oh! I almost forgot." She glanced at Phoebe, who had been watching the proceedings raptly. Monica walked briskly into the bedroom, grabbed Phoebe's present, walked out and handed it to her. "Here. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year."

Phoebe stared and stared, so much so that Monica was beginning to feel decidedly uncomfortable. After perhaps a minute, Phoebe reached out and took it, holding it close to her body, almost cradling it.

Ross grinned. "All right, you have no more excuses now. You have to play us a song."

Phoebe strummed a chord on the guitar, and it sounded somewhat off-key to Monica. After two more chords, Phoebe looked up at Monica and spoke in a near-whisper. "Thank you Monica. It's the best present ever."

Tremendous relief and satisfaction washed through Monica, leaving her warm. She sat down at Kip's feet. "You're welcome. Can you play something for us?"

"Uh, uh sure." Phoebe strummed the guitar a couple more times, her expression one of utter concentration. Then she looked around, smiled, and began singing.

Christmas Evening in New York,  
The snow is falling lightly.  
I eat dinner without a fork  
Because it gets stolen nightly.

The turkey's from the garbage heap,  
The stuffing's of dubious origin;  
And yet from joy it makes me weep,  
Unlike my mother, I'm not moribund.

Phoebe strummed an ending chord and beamed at everyone. Monica swallowed a feeling of pure horror. Phoebe was not a good singer, and her guitar playing was adequate at best. And for some reason Phoebe smiled as she sang that awful and depressing song. All of Monica's doubts about Phoebe, which had just begun to subside, rose to new heights. Phoebe was mentally ill, that's all there was too it, and Monica wasn't certain she wanted to be around it.

Ross broke the temporary silence. "Was that in the key of C?"

Phoebe looked back at him blankly. "The key of what?"

"The chords. It sounded like C except it seemed to waver a bit in the middle verses."

"Oh, well, I don't use keys or locks in my music, I just play whatever I feel like playing." Phoebe looked down at her guitar, strummed another note. "It helped me... when, when I wasn't sure about... what my life... what was going to happen to me, Armless Ed let me borrow his guitar and I learned it and sang about things that had happened to me, things I had seen, and it made all... I could... I didn't feel so bad about who I was or where I was at." Phoebe played another chord. "For a little while anyway."

Monica looked down, feeling abashed and ashamed at her thoughts of a few seconds ago. If she'd had the kind of life Phoebe had led, she'd be lucky to be in a place where a few off-kilter songs could lift her spirits.

"I know what you mean," Ross said. "Music... music can be such a release."

Monica shuddered at what Ross considered music. But maybe this was serendipitous; Ross was perhaps the one person in the world that could relate to Phoebe about her music.

"Well, bedtime for me." Chandler stood up, drained his beer, and waved his notebook at Monica. "Thanks again. Happy New Year."

Everyone chorused Happy New Years all around. Ross left as well. Phoebe helped Monica clear away the remains of the party before she retired to her own bedroom, guitar in hand.

That left Monica alone with Kip. She smiled, sat on his lap, and spent a few eternities kissing him with abandon. Finally she separated from him, took him by the hand, and led him to her bedroom.

He began taking off his clothes, placing them not-quite-neatly on a chair. Monica frowned as she folded her blouse but decided not to make an issue of it. For now. Getting him to put the clothes on the chair instead of dumping them on the floor had been a significant enough change.

Down to their undergarments, Monica turned off the lights and met Kip at the side of the bed. She began kissing him again. He sat down and she allowed him to pull her onto the bed. They lost lip contact on the way, and he took the opportunity to say with a grin, "Happy New Year. I'm weeping with joy."

He moved in to resume kissing her but Monica drew her head back. "Stop that."

Kip looked confused. "Stop what?"

"Stop making fun of her." Monica sat up and looked at the wall that separated her bedroom from the other one. "She doesn't like it."

"Well, if she'd just stop giving me the cold shoulder." Kip was irritated now. "I mean, she's never liked me, not from day one. I don't know what I'm supposed to do about that."

"She doesn't like you because you won't stop putting her down. You don't stop judging her." Monica turned, slightly surprised by the force of her emotion. "Just, just stop it, okay? No one else has a problem accepting her for who she is."

Kip made a disgusted sound and sat up on the other side of the bed. "They all think she's charming, that her mental disability is endearing somehow. I'm not going to just enable her by pretending there's nothing wrong with her. Seriously, you should ask her to move out. She's going to cause nothing but trouble for you."

Monica bit her lip. Kip's feelings unfortunately echoed hers to some degree. She liked Phoebe, but there was a core to her, a place inside her that was both scared and angry. There hadn't been a repeat of the oven incident, but Phoebe would still occasionally just blank out and start talking to unseen people or to herself, even if just for a second or two. And when she did, Monica would suddenly feel just a tad frightened, uncertain what Phoebe might do, what she was capable of under those circumstances.

But she was also one of the friendliest and nicest people Monica had ever met. Phoebe seemed to be a bottomless well of joy, someone who never failed to cheer Monica up, even if some of her antics got annoying. It was that, her sympathetic and friendly demeanor, that had made Monica realize just how much she'd missed Rachel, and how glad she was to find someone very much like her in Phoebe.

Monica find a brief moment of self-amusement, imagining Rachel dressed in some of Phoebe's more outlandish outfits. Then she heard Kip stir slightly and decided to focus on the moment. "Please, honey. I know it's hard, I know you're concerned for me. But I don't think Phoebe is going to hurt me, and I want you to give her a chance." She turned, crawled over the bed, and rested her chin on Kip's shoulder. "I want us all to get along. Please?"

Kip blew out a breath, then turned, his face tantalizingly close to hers. "All right. For you, I'll try."

Monica smiled. "Thanks." She moved the tiniest fraction forward and their lips touched, and Monica relaxed into the moment, feeling good about the year to come.

* * *

(to be continued)

Author's Notes: Let me start with the obligatory "sorry this is so late" apology. I've been struggling with the continuity, because the Friends continuity contradicts itself. For instance, according to TOW the Flashback, Phoebe moved out of Monica's place at the same time Joey moved in with Chandler, while in TOW All the Thanksgivings, Joey is having Thanksgiving with Phoebe and Monica while they are still roommates, and they seem to have known each other for a while.

So I've been attempting to build a coherent timeline of the comings and goings of our favorite sixsome from 1990 to 1993, and have finally settled on a chronology I feel comfortable with, even if by necessity it contradicts the series canon in places. Mostly it means I'm going to ignore TOW the Flashback, because too much happens too quickly at exactly the same time. So the events of TOW the Flashback are going to be stretched out a bit over time and not all happen at once. I may even throw in some P&R, because I really liked their little moment on the pool table. )

Anyway, that's in the future. For now, expect more of K&M.

Oh, and another reason this is so late: Phoebe's song. I am terrible, just terrible, with writing songs and poetry. If anyone can come up with better lyrics for Phoebe's New Year's serenade, I'm all ears.


	12. Monica and Relatives

Monica trudged up the stairs. Work had been exhausting; the lunch shift seemed much more frantic than the dinner shift. Still, it was nice to have more normal hours, getting off work around six or seven. 

The door beckoned. She began to stretch her hand holding the key towards it, hesitated, then simply turned the knob. As expected, it opened. Inside, Chandler and Ross were watching another cartoon, this one one of a bald, fat man. The name would come to her in a minute if she only thought about it. Ross lifted his hand and sort of half-turned his head in her direction; Chandler actually made the full turn to make eye contact and lifted his chin with a "Hey."

"Hey." Monica put down her purse and trudged to her bedroom. She quickly changed out of her work clothes and came back to a discussion of whether some man's assistant at work was in love with his boss. Monica chose not to let this engage her attention and instead wandered over to the kitchen to consider dinner.

"Kip coming over?"

Monica looked over at Ross. "No, he's working late. Carol coming over?"

"She might, she was thinking about going to a book club meeting." A strange look of resignation passed across Ross's face almost faster than Monica could register. "Where's Phoebe?"

Monica shrugged. "So just the three of us, then?"

Chandler was now fully turned towards her while still sitting on the couch. "You look tired. Why don't we order pizza tonight? My treat."

"Pizza is very fattening."

"That's what makes it tasty."

"It's greasy and disgusting."

Ross snorted. "Which is why you were able to eat two at time back in high school, huh?"

Monica clenched her jaw. "Shut up, Ross."

He shrugged one shoulder and turned back towards the television.

Chandler continued as if nothing had happened. "How about we order a veggie pizza with light cheese for you and Phoebe if she comes, and one with tons of meat for us manly types?"

A smile found its way to her face. "Manly? You?"

"Well, only when compared to Ross."

"Just you wait," Ross said casually. "I'm thinking about taking karate lessons. I'll be able to kill you with just my thumb."

"Oh God, it's the Thumb of Death!" Chandler scrambled over the couch and ran towards the phone. "Quick, call the National Guard before it eats New York!"

He began dialing, and Monica's grin at his antics lessoned, wondering how far he was going to take this bluff. Chandler looked up at her and began talking into the phone. "Hi, I'd like to order two pizzas to be delivered."

Monica threw her hands up and decided to let him have this battle. Truth be told, she was a little tired. She wandered back to the living room and flopped on the couch. She watched the television, wondering why all the cartoon people were yellow.

The pizzas arrived a few minutes later. Chandler waved everyone off and paid for the pizzas himself. Monica began pulling out plates and glasses when Phoebe walked into the apartment. Chandler looked up from where he was putting the pizza boxes on the coffee table. "Hey Pheebs," he said.

Phoebe blinked at him as she set down her guitar. "Pheebs?"

"You know... Phoebe. Pheebs. The Pheebarino. The Pheester. Phoebe. Pheebs." Chandler seamed to be losing steam in the face of her steady regard. "You," he finished lamely.

"Pheebs." She cocked her head and stared out into space for a few seconds. "Okay!" She beamed at Chandler, then took off her coat.

Monica exchanged a look with Chandler. His expression somehow conveyed comic relief that he had escaped that unscathed. Stifling a chuckle, Monica began to pour beverages.

Phoebe, meantime, went to the living room and sat on the floor next to the coffee table. She immediately stared intently at Ross. It took him a few seconds to notice, then he frowned slightly. "What?"

"Your aura is very murky today," she said. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Ross said immediately. He turned back towards the television.

Monica handed out plates to everyone, along with a napkin, coaster and their usual beverage. Phoebe and Ross accepted their meals gracefully but then seemed to ignore them, Ross staring at the television, Phoebe staring at Ross. Monica idly placed the odds at two to one that Ross would break first.

After a minute, Ross turned his head abruptly and said sharply, "There's nothing wrong. Okay? You, you think I have some kind of aura, and, and maybe I do, but I don't see it, and I don't believe its murky, so just let me, let me be okay with that, all right?"

Phoebe stared at him for a few more seconds. Then she smiled gently. "All right." With that, she took a slice of veggie pizza and went back to watching the television, which was now showing some kind of comedy variety show. Phoebe began giggling at the antics of a tall man dressed as a fire marshal.

Monica frowned at Ross. She took a sip of water, set down the glass, then said, "Don't dismiss her concern like that."

"I'm not! It's just not, not warranted, that's all."

"She's concerned for you. We all are."

"Well, stop being so concerned." Ross set his plate on the coffee table and stood up. "I, I know things are the best right now for me and Carol, but that's my thing to deal with, and, and I just don't feel like talking about it every single second I'm here."

"Nobody mentioned Carol," Monica shot back. "You were the one to bring her up."

"Well, what else could it be!" Ross began pacing. "Ross is all murky, must be problems with Carol! That's what it always is, can't seem to talk to his wife, always hanging around his sister's place, gotta be something screwed up with the boy!"

"Oh, now you're just being dramatic," Monica snapped. "We don't think those things about you. Get over yourself already."

Ross glared at her. "You know, a while ago you told me to shut up. I think that's excellent advice, and I'd like to offer it in return. Shut up, Monica."

Heat rose in her cheeks. Monica shot to her feet. "Oh, that's just great Ross, just great. Are you trying to push me away too? Maybe after you divorce Carol, you can divorce me as well!"

She'd gone too far, she knew that as soon as she'd said the words. Ross's face turned very red. After glaring pure anger at her for several seconds, he stalked out of the apartment.

Monica watched him go silently, furious and ashamed. She plopped back down on the couch and hugged herself, wishing she could rewind the past two minutes.

An arm was draped over her shoulders, a hand placed on her knee. Monica fought an impulse to tell Chandler to jump out the window; the only person who should be touching her like that was Kip. Then she realized he was speaking, and tried to pick up the thread. "...gets that way sometimes, you know that. Let him cool off and talk to him tomorrow."

Chandler's tone was calm and sympathetic, and Monica realized quite suddenly that his touch wasn't meant to be anything but comforting, and that it was actually working. She leaned into him slightly, closed her eyes, and gathered her emotional strength. This was just another bad chapter in her never-ending struggle with her brother, and she'd survived far worse.

After a minute Monica shook off Chandler and picked up her plate again. "Come on, before it get cold." She took a deliberate bite in spite of not being at all hungry. Chandler watched her for a few seconds, then resumed his own meal.

Monica's thoughts couldn't come into focus at all, and she let the mindless ramblings of the television show wash over her. It actually took her several minutes to realize that, although she was eating her pizza, Phoebe's eyes never left Monica's face. For a brief second, Monica find a kind of amusement in realizing that Phoebe's steady gaze was as discomfiting to her as it surely had been to Ross.

Mentally bracing herself, Monica looked at Phoebe. "Yes?"

Phoebe tilted her head slightly. "You like having a brother, don't you?"

Monica blinked. This was not quite the question she'd been expecting. "I, I don't really have a choice about having a brother."

"Yes you do," Phoebe said. "You could totally ignore him, never speak to him, never see him, never mention him, just pretend he doesn't exist at all. But you don't. Even when you're yelling at him, you're glad he's around."

"I..." She didn't know how to reply to that. "I sometimes wish... he wasn't so... irritating."

"But you need him to be irritating," Phoebe said with confidence. "Just now, when you were yelling at each other, by the end both of your auras were less murky. It's like, it's like you knew he needed to get good and mad at someone, so you decided to let him get mad at you."

Monica frowned. That wasn't how it had been at all. She'd had no intention of getting into another screaming match with Ross, it had just happened. Still, if Phoebe wanted to attribute some wise, altruistic motive to what had just happened, that was fine by Monica. "Well, I, I just wanted to help him."

"And you did. Family's important," Phoebe declared as if announcing an important discovery. She stood up and walked towards the apartment door, grabbing her coat from the hook.

"Where you going, Pheebs?" Chandler asked casually with an undertone of concern.

"Pheebs." Phoebe giggled. "Uh, I'm going to go look for my family."

"Your family?" Monica shared a quick glance of puzzlement with Chandler. "But, but I thought your mother... and, and your father's in... in..."

"She did, and he is." Phoebe took her purse and keys from the counter. "But I've got a grandmother living somewhere here in the city. I'm not sure where, but I'll find out."

"Just, just like that?" Chandler stood up. "It's a big city. At least forty percent grandmothers, too. Thirty, forty percent."

"Well, maybe. But I know she drives a cab. So I can ask some cabdrivers, see if they know her."

"Hmm." Chandler seemed to think this over. Then he walked over to Phoebe. "Let me come with you, then. I want to help you look."

"Oh, it's way too late," Phoebe said hastily. "You have work tomorrow."

"So do you," Chandler retorted. "I can handle this. Besides, I'm half-hoping to be fired. There's a big position open at the bull-fighting arena in Mexico City that I've had my eye on for some time."

Phoebe seemed to want to object but Chandler was already opening the door. Phoebe followed him out. "As, as a matador?"

"No, but I'd be in the arena at the same time as the matador." The rest of his response faded as he entered his apartment, evidently to grab his coat.

Phoebe began closing the door behind her, but then opened it just wide enough to see Monica. "Oh, see you later, I, we, it shouldn't too late. Okay bye!" The door closed.

Monica stared at the door in a state close to total bewilderment. This had been a strange evening, going in totally unplanned directions. Monica looked at the coffee table and noticed that very little of the pizza had actually managed to get eaten. She sighed and began clearing everything away, resisting an urge to finish the pizzas herself.

That impulse disturbed her; one of the things she had discovered during her weight loss was that eating really had been a way of dealing with her insecurities. With Rachel's help she'd found a way to become more confident in herself and found other ways of dealing with problems.

Now, however, the old urges were coming back. That couldn't be a good sign. Things were slipping out of control, with her brother and his wife, with her job, with her flighty roommate. Life with Nana had been carefully ordered, and now that she was in Florida it seemed that Monica had done nothing but invite more and more chaos into her life.

Suddenly, deeply, she needed Kip. She needed him to be home, needed to hug him. As hastily as she was capable of she finished cleaning, then ran across the hall. She knocked and tried the handle at the same time. It opened and she went inside.

The light was on, giving her hope, but a quick tour indicated that the apartment was empty. Fighting disappointment, she sat on the stool in the kitchen and waited for him to come home.

A plastic bag was on the counter. Idly Monica peeked inside. It was a book. Monica pulled it out to read, "The New York Knicks: Team of the 80's". The receipt was being used as a bookmark; Monica flipped open the book to a chapter about Patrick Ewing. Monica tried to read it but found it utterly boring.

She put the receipt back in place and paused. It showed that the book had been part of an exchange. For another book that had been returned. Mastering the MCAT.

She felt heat rising to her face again. Quickly she put the receipt back and closed the book, then stuffed it into the bag. She hastily made her way back to the apartment, quite suddenly having no urge to see Kip at all.

Monica flopped down on her couch and stared at the television. No one appreciated her, no one at all. A brother who yelled at her, a neighbor and roommate who ran out on her, a boyfriend that returned her gifts. No one liked her, no one could stand to be with her.

She covered her face with her hands and tried to calm herself. She wasn't being fair, she knew that. There were perfectly reasonable arguments she could make. Ross wouldn't have yelled at her if she hadn't provoked him. Chandler and Phoebe hadn't deserted her, they'd just gone looking for Phoebe's grandmother. Kip just wasn't interested in becoming a doctor, and had wanted to trade in her gift for one he'd enjoy. That was all perfectly understandable.

Wasn't it?

Growling, Monica rose to her feet and almost ran to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and started emptying it; time to give it a good thorough scrubbing and maybe defrost the freezer at the same time. Maybe in the long minutes of mindless labor she'd come to a point where she didn't hate everyone around her. Maybe eventually she'd decide she didn't really hate her life.

* * *

(to be continued) 


	13. Monica and her Brother, Again

Monica glanced at the ticket and sighed. Another hamburger. With all the choices on the lunch menu, people always seemed to order the same things. If not a hamburger than the Caesar salad. If not that then the steak sandwich. At dinner people seemed willing to try different things, but during the lunch shift it was always the same thing. 

Shaking off the irritation, Monica grabbed a patty from a platter she had prepared earlier and threw it onto the grill. It began to sizzle, and Monica quickly applied a pinch of pepper and garlic to add some flavor. The lunch shift manager seemed far more laid back than Mr. Shurtleff had been during the dinner shift, and didn't seem to mind if Monica strayed a little from the menu.

A new waiter came into the kitchen. Monica found him aesthetically pleasing to look at and didn't mind at all when he walked directly towards her. "Monica, right?"

She nodded, suddenly mindful of Kip.

"One of the customers wants to compliment you on the salad."

Monica felt a warm glow at this. This was a very rare occurrence, one that every chef strove towards. Monica looked over at Frannie, who instantly said, "Go, I'll finish this."

Smiling her thanks, Monica stopped at the sink to quickly wash her hands. She walked out into the dining area and stopped in her tracks when the waiter pointed out the table.

The woman at the table smiled somewhat nervously. Monica gathered herself and walked on over. "Hi, Carol."

"Hi Monica." She indicated her salad. "I thought this tasted like yours and took a chance. I'm glad I was right."

"Thank you." Monica took stock. It surprised her to think that it had been quite a while since she'd seen Carol. That Carol should choose to eat at Monica's workplace was unlikely to be a coincidence; she probably wanted to talk to Monica about something. But Monica already had one black mark against her after her confrontation with Mr. Shurtleff and couldn't afford to take too long a break right during the heart of the lunch shift. And whatever problems Carol and Ross were having, Monica could probably offer almost no help. Her four-month-old relationship with Kip was her longest so far, and marriage was far off in the horizon, if it was going to happen at all.

Monica thought over all that while looking steadily at Carol, then sat at the table. "What's wrong?"

Carol seemed taken aback by that. "Who, who said anything was wrong?"

Monica furrowed her brow just the tiniest bit. "Carol," she said with a touch of admonishment.

With a sigh Carol took a sip of water. Then she shook her head. "It's so easy to analyze other people's problems and so difficult to look at your own. I really thought I was here just to say hi and compliment you on the salad, but I guess it really is something else."

"Then what?" Monica couldn't help showing a little exasperation. "I was hoping you guys would... would start getting better."

"Well... we haven't been getting any worse, which is an improvement." Carol picked up her fork and started toying with a crouton. "Mostly because we don't see each other a lot. I spend time at the book store or the gym, and Ross... Ross spends time with you. A lot of time with you."

Monica nodded reluctantly. Ross came over four or five nights a week now, and Monica always prepared dinner on the assumption that he would arrive in time for it. It was almost like they were living together at home again, except he didn't spend hours in the bathroom working on his hair.

"So... so we seem to have... a kind of truce." Carol speared the crouton and lifted it up, studying it minutely. "Ross goes and does his thing with you guys, and I go and do my thing by myself, and when we do get together, it's like we're, we're meeting each other for the first time. Back when... back when our relationship was good. So, so it's like as long as can pretend we aren't even married but are just dating like we were in college... then... then it's all right."

Monica looked around, but none of her co-workers seemed to be paying and special attention to the table. So far her little impromptu break had gone unnoticed. In a way she was disappointed, because she had no idea how to respond to Carol's little speech. "So, you're happy?"

"Happy?" Carol's focus shifted from the crouton to Monica. "I, I'm at peace, mostly. It's not happy but it's better than what it used to be. But, but I feel guilty. Ross and I pledged to each other that we'd be beside each other for the rest of our lives, supporting each other through good times and bad. But I'm... I'm not really supporting him. I'm not... trying to make him happy."

Carol set down the fork and leaned forward, her eyes intense. "I have to know, Monica... when Ross is with you, when he's spending those evenings with you and your friends... does he... is... is he happy?"

Monica returned Carol's gaze, suddenly ashamed about the argument she'd had with Ross last night. "He... he seems all right. We, all of us, we talk and watch television and play games and... and he seems to be having fun like the rest of us. I don't... it's not the same kind of joy I felt from him when he first met you, but... I think he enjoys spending time with us."

Carol sagged and dropped her eyes. She took a couple of deep breaths, then said, "Thank you. I, I needed to hear that."

"You're, uh, welcome. I'm sorry, I have to get back to the kitchen." Monica stood up. "You, you guys will be all right, won't you?"

Lifting her eyes, Carol smiled slightly. "We're trying. I made promises, to Ross and God, and I intend on trying to keep them. We've reached... an accommodation. I don't know exactly how sustainable it is, but it will do until... until I can find some answers."

Carol reached over, took Monica's hand in hers, squeezed it slightly. "Again, thank you. I'm so lucky Ross has a wonderful sister like you."

Monica blushed. "Th-thanks. Stop by sometime for dinner, we'd love to have you."

"I'll try." Carol smiled widely.

Monica withdrew her hand and walked quickly back to the kitchen. She washed her hands again and thought of Ross. Desperately she hoped that he came to dinner tonight, that the arguments of last night didn't keep him away. Monica felt a sudden and surprisingly deep sibling sympathy arise, and a desire to see Ross that greatly eclipsed any longing to see Kip.

She went back to the grill and started thinking about what she could do to help her brother.

* * *

.  
Monica turned the handle and pushed, and was mildly surprised to find that the door was locked. Her keys were still in her hand so she unlocked the door and stepped inside. The apartment was indeed empty. 

She dumped her keys on the counter and picked up the phone. She called Ross at work and at his apartment, but he was in neither of those places. Monica swore softly. If only cell phones weren't so expensive; it would be an awfully convenient way to get a hold of him right now.

With nothing more she could do, she changed out of her work clothes and considered what to do about dinner. Kip was supposed to come over tonight, so at the very least there'd be two for dinner. Monica decided on quick stew, enough for five if everyone showed up. She could refrigerate and later slow-cook any leftovers.

She had just begun when Chandler walked in. Monica smiled a greeting at him. "Hey, how'd it go last night?"

"You know how weird I am, right?" Chandler went to the refrigerator, pulled out a soft drink. "Well, compare me to the array of New York City taxi drivers we met last night, and I'm a regular Fred MacMurray."

Monica wasn't exactly sure who that was but laughed anyway. "So did you find Phoebe's grandmother?"

"Surprisingly, yes." Chandler opened the can, took a drink. "At least, we found where she lived."

"So you went to go see her?"

"We went to go see the building she lived in."

Monica frowned. "And?"

"And." Chandler took a long drink. "Do you have any idea how cold it can get when you're standing outside in the winter next to a woman staring up at an apartment building? My fingers fell off one by one and I had to reattach them with a combination of bubble gum and duct tape."

Irrationally, Monica glanced at his fingers looking for duct tape. She quickly shook herself. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"It means she just stood there for an hour. She didn't move an inch. Then she apologized and we went home. We never did actually ring the doorbell or anything."

"Oh." Monica sighed. "Meaning Phoebe probably has some family issues we're not completely aware of."

"Well, we knew that she ran away from home after her mother killed herself. That would imply that she wasn't too keen on living with any of her relatives, which would include her grandmother." Chandler shrugged. "I give her credit for trying, though. Sometimes I look at my parents, and I think that I'd rather dive into a swimming pool full of razor blades than see them again."

"Ew." Monica quickly shoved the mental image out of her head. It wasn't like Chandler to be so grim, which led Monica to wonder about his parental issues. He'd made many joking references to his father's gay burlesque show and his mother's jet-setting lifestyle. How he really and truly felt about his parents, Monica didn't know.

She began chopping some carrots, then said without turning her head, "You were great last night."

"I... er, what?"

"The way you helped Phoebe. I was impressed."

Chandler sighed. "A woman thanks me for being great last night and it's not for the one thing I wish it could be for."

Monica glanced up sharply. "Stop that."

"Ah, that's the kind of thing I'm used to having a woman say to me."

"Oh, you're impossible." Monica started in on the celery. "Forget I said anything."

Silence for a moment. "Uh, thanks. I guess I have to work on being gracious when someone tries to pay me a compliment."

"Oh, you think?" She looked up. "You're a nice guy, it's just that sometimes it's hard to see beyond that mouth of yours."

Whatever response Chandler might have been in the process of making was interrupted by the door opening. Kip came in, smiling as he saw Monica. "Hello."

"Hi there." Monica turned and accepted a hug and brief-but-fierce kiss from Kip. The book receipt flashed through her mind but she shoved it aside, deciding to enjoy his presence for now. She broke off the hug and turned back towards the sink. "Grab yourself something to drink, dinner will be about half an hour."

"All right." As Monica washed her hands she could hear the refrigerator door being opened. "Hi Chandler," Kip said in passing.

"Hey." Chandler's voice was strangely neutral. Monica glanced at him, saw the same blank expression she saw in Phoebe's face when she was talking to Kip. Monica thinned her lips. What was wrong with these people?

The door opened again, and Phoebe and Ross entered. Monica felt weak with relief at the sight of Ross. He was busy chatting with Phoebe and didn't meet Monica's eyes.

"Hey guys." Chandler's voice had a lot more animation now. "So, how was work and all?"

Phoebe's voice sound very chipper, even for her. "I didn't go to work today!"

"All right!" Chandler bounced up and down twice. "I know I'd feel that excited, too, if I skipped work. In fact, I'd throw a party, invite the whole island. Except I'd need a job to pay for it."

Ross held up a hand to stave off Chandler's monologue. "Ask her why she skipped work."

Phoebe answered before Chandler could phrase the question. "I spent the whole day with my grandmother!"

Monica stopped stirring the pot and focused her whole attention on Phoebe. She was positively glowing, and Monica felt something inside herself respond to Phoebe's obvious joy.

"That's great!" For once, Chandler seemed genuinely enthusiastic. "So you finally worked up the nerve to go see her."

"Yes, I was on my way to work, except somehow my feet led me to her apartment, and my brain was trying to yell at my feet and tell them to take me away but my hand had its own thoughts and pushed the button, and then Grandma's voice came over the intercom and, and I just had to say something." Phoebe couldn't seem to get the words out fast enough. "And she was glad to see me and we talked and talked about all sorts of stuff and I have a grandmother again, yay!"

Monica laughed along with everyone else. Phoebe continued to babble on. Ross walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, selected a bottle of juice, and came over to the cupboard to grab a glass.

"Hey," Monica said in a low voice, not wanting to interrupt Phoebe.

"Hey," Ross said in an equally quiet tone.

Monica swallowed. "I'm sorry."

Ross looked at her and their eyes met. "Me too," he said.

Monica nodded. "No matter what happens, I hope you keep coming around here."

"I plan to."

They shared a brief smile, then Ross moved away and asked Phoebe a question about her grandmother. Phoebe answered with undiminished glee, and Monica let the emotions wash over her, leaving her relatively at peace.

* * *

(to be continued) 


	14. Monica and her Boyfriend

Monica stood at the bar, smiling for no real reason. Except that Kip was here. Right here. Right next to her. 

It had been a few days; he'd been busy with work or just plain tired. But it was Saturday night, a day off they both shared, and now she was with him and the world was good and well and right.

She turned her head and looked at him. He was watching a Yankees game. Monica found this mildly irritating; hadn't the season just ended? Cincinnati and somebody. And here it was, only a few days later it seemed like, and they were starting it all over again.

It seemed quite sufficient to hold Kip's attention. Monica felt a familiar self-recrimination rise. When they were with Chandler and Ross and Phoebe, conversation flowed freely. But by herself, with Kip, she couldn't seem to find anything to say. Too often they'd spend dates silently watching television or a movie or just drinking here at the bar. Monica simply couldn't find anything to say when she was with him, and she hated herself for it.

She tried again. "Think they have a chance this year?"

"Who, the Yankees? Naw, they suck. If it weren't for the Twins and Braves I'd say they were the worst team in baseball."

"Oh." Monica frowned slightly. "They why watch?"

Kip blew out a breath. "Monica, stop pestering me with stupid questions, okay?"

Heat rose to Monica's face. Part anger, part shame. She actually sputtered slightly, not sure what to say, how to respond, which feeling was genuine. "Well, what questions do you want me to ask you?"

Kip kept his eyes on the television as he frowned. "Don't ask me any questions, not while the game is on, just let me enjoy this, okay?"

"While I what, darn your socks? This is supposed to be a date. Our date, you and me together, not me dangling on your arm while you do whatever you want."

This at last got Kip to meet her eyes. "Hey, you can play pool or something. Can't we have a relationship where we just spend time together being comfortable?"

That brought Monica short. Truth be told, she wasn't exactly sure what a good relationship was supposed to be like. Maybe this was it, maybe they were supposed to just do their own thing and not try to get in each other's way. It was certainly the kind of relationship Ross and Carol currently had.

Except Ross and Carol's relationship didn't feel right. Monica's parents did things together all the time, and despite some legendary fights seemed uncomfortable whenever they were separated for any length of time. And they'd been married for longer than just about everyone else Monica knew. That was a good relationship, that was love.

Wasn't it?

She found herself expressing the thought out loud. "Do you love me, Kip?"

He sighed. "Of course. You're a great girl, we've had the best fun together."

She almost responded "We have?" but stopped herself in time. "Do you see us together... at the end of the year? Next year?"

Kip narrowed his eyes. "That sounds like you're trying to trap me into something."

"I just..." I just want to know if this is a relationship. I want to know if this is love, if this is what love feels like. Monica deliberately kept the words unsaid, trying to avoid sounding like a romance novel. But she needed something from him, anything that would make her feel... loved. "I just want to make certain that... that you're happy. With me."

"Absolutely." He gently took her shoulders, drew her in for a kiss. Almost despite herself she melted into it, trying to draw feeling out of him through the physical contact.

A minute later they separated. He smiled crookedly. "Chandler's in Atlantic City this weekend."

Monica nodded. Chandler had gone to great comic lengths describing the training seminar his company was sending him too and what he planned to do each day instead of actually attending any of the sessions. That meant that Kip had the apartment to himself, and Monica knew where his thoughts were leading him. She held out her hand in mute acceptance, and he took it with a grin, leading her out the door.

Her emotions roiled strangely within her. Sex with Kip was fine to an extent, except it usually signified the end of any other interaction she'd have with him the rest of the night. Tonight had been another new record, the earliest the date had ended with sex followed by sleep. Monica tried to draw comfort from the fact that he had abandoned watching the baseball game to placate her. He really did value her more than the Yankees. Once she'd prodded him a little.

It was a good sign, it had to be a good sign. Kip would realize she needed more attention, and would from this point forward spend more time talking to her, interacting with her, having the kind of constant dialogue her parents seemed to have. This was the first step in the right direction, and they'd make it work, and it would be fine.

Monica repeated that over and over to herself, hoping that eventually she'd believe it.

He opened the door to his apartment and led her inside. Then he turned and kissed her, and Monica joined in eagerly. Despite everything, the physical relationship was good. Her body began heating up, and Kip took two small steps backward, leading her toward the bedroom, before finally turning fully, away from the kiss, and leading her straight in.

Inside the bedroom, Monica began unbuttoning her blouse - Kip had learned very early what a mistake it was to try and rip it off of her.

Kip shrugged out of his own shirt. "By the way, my father's coming into town next weekend. I thought we could meet him for dinner."

Monica froze with one arm still in her blouse. "What?"

"My father's coming into town." Kip stood up, began unbuckling his pants but stopped as Monica continued to gape at him. "You, you wouldn't mind meeting him, would you?"

The air was thick in the room. Monica couldn't breathe, couldn't get the words out. "Y-your father."

"Yes." Kip was clearly getting irritated. "This isn't like meeting the parents or anything, not like we're announcing an engagement, just thought we could all meet."

"Your father." Her voice sounded curiously detached, as if coming from another person standing next to her. "The one that inspired you to get into medicine."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. He helped me pay-"

"Because he died of cancer."

Kip blinked almost comically. "I... I didn't say that."

"Yes you did. On our first date. You said you missed him. That you wanted to make certain no one was misdiagnosed, that no one would go through what he did."

Kip shook his head. "I didn't, you must have misunderstood me."

"I understood you quite clearly. I was standing right there."

"I, I meant my stepfather. We were so close I just called him Father. I-"

Monica interrupted. "Is your mother alive?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then call her. Let me talk to her. I want to know about this stepfather of yours."

Kip just stood there, his expression one of uncertainty. Like he didn't know how to respond.

Calmly, Monica put her blouse back on. With remarkably steady hands she buttoned herself up. She looked back up into Kip's face, spoke one final word to him. "Liar."

Whirling, she left the bedroom and made her way across the living room, guided more by memory than sight. Somehow she managed to make it through two doors. Somebody greeted her but she was utterly unable to process any details about it. Monica sat on the couch and stared at the wall so hard that it hurt.

Dimly she felt a presence sit on the other end of the couch. Somebody spoke gentle, inquiring words but Monica didn't want to hear them.

"A lie." Someone with a voice remarkably similar to Monica's began speaking. "All of it. From beginning to end. A lie. He didn't... didn't want to know me. He just... just wanted to use me. Use me. And I let him. Poor little naïve Monica just let herself be manipulated, let herself become a plaything. It's so easy to be lied to when you throw yourself prostrate before any man that comes along. I hate her. I hate Monica."

The gentle voice said something, repeated it.

Monica turned, finally registered Phoebe next to her. "What?"

"Give me your feet."

Monica looked down at her shoes and back up to Phoebe. "No."

Phoebe's voice hardened. "Give them to me!"

Monica leaned back. Phoebe sounded angry, as she had never heard Phoebe before. Her expression was focused and grim, and suddenly Monica remembered that Phoebe had spent years living on the street.

Almost timidly, Monica made a half-turn on the couch and put her feet in Phoebe's lap.

Immediately Phoebe's expression calmed. She took off Monica's shoes and socks, setting them neatly on the floor underneath the coffee table. With both hands she gripped Monica's right foot and began massaging it.

Befuddled, Monica just stared at her foot, and it actually took a full minute of hard massaging to realize that Phoebe's strong hands were making a favorable impression. The massage felt wonderful, and Monica concentrated solely on the physical sensation, not allowing her mind to think at all.

Phoebe's voice was gentle again as she spoke. "Did you go to Catholic school?"

"Catholic? Phoebe, I'm Jewish. You know that."

"Oh, maybe I did. But you remind me of my friend Margaret. She went to Catholic school all her life, and never actually dated a guy until she was eighteen. And she had no taste in men, none. She'd date anyone, literally. Men who'd beat her, even. Although I'd kill anyone who'd beat you, Monica."

Monica wondered whether or not that was a figure of speech and decided to let it pass. "You, you think I have no taste in men?"

"I think Kip was bad for you from the beginning." Phoebe looked up, met Monica's eyes. "And I think you knew that, too, on some level."

A protest rose to Monica's lips and died there under Phoebe's probing gaze. Phoebe smiled softly and then turned her attention to Monica's other foot.

Monica responded after a minute. "I, I didn't date much in high school. People, people didn't seem to like me much then."

"Well, I like you." Phoebe tossed a wide grin at Monica. "Chandler likes you a lot, too. And your brother loves you. So, so let us guide you. We'll help you separate the good guys from the bad guys."

Unbidden, unwanted, tears came to Monica's eyes. "God, I thought you guys were such jerks, the way you treated him. But you were right. You were right all along."

Phoebe shrugged as if that was unimportant. She continued massaging Monica's feet. After a few minutes, the tears stopped flowing and Monica wiped her face dry with her hands. She found herself watching Phoebe's studious, accepting face as she worked on Monica's feet.

Finally, Monica felt compelled to say. "Thanks. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been here."

Phoebe smiled. "You're welcome, but you would have been fine. You're very strong, Monica. I never tried to interfere because I knew you were stronger than he was, and that you'd be able to overcome anything he did to you."

Monica groaned. "Let's not talk about him."

"Fine by me," Phoebe said with feeling. Then she brightened. "Want some cotton candy? I bought some on the way home from work."

"Uh, I don't think that's a good idea. It's not... I tend to overeat when I get depressed."

"But you're not depressed," Phoebe said firmly. "I'd see it in your aura if you were."

Monica blinked, and realized that Phoebe was absolutely right. Somehow Phoebe had managed to alter the course of Monica's emotions, at least temporarily. For the first time, Monica realized exactly how special her roommate was. "Okay, then sure."

Phoebe grinned and did a hop-skip into her room.

Monica leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes. Her feet felt fabulous, and the rest of her wasn't too bad either. There'd be a reckoning later, probably, but Monica knew with a new-found confidence that she'd be all right.

* * *

(to be continued) 


	15. Monica and the Day After

Monica folded the egg whites into the cheese mixture, then carefully spooned that into a blini pan. She set the pan into the oven and closed the door. Immediately she turned to the sauce, her agitation growing. It was too soon, too soon, it was all going to be ruined. 

To her relief the door opened. Monica looked over her shoulder at Chandler. "My God, where have you been?"

Chandler blinked at her. "Wrestling alligators in the sewer for change so I could afford the subway ride home. I would have just torn apart a parking meter if I'd known there was a deadline involved."

"Well, set the table." She'd been so involved in the meal prep she'd had no time to do anything else. "We have to eat in ten minutes."

Rushing to the cupboard, Chandler spoke in a voice meant to resemble a computer. "There are now ten minutes to total destruction." Then in a tone of faux-panic, "Get the plates on the table, now, by God, or we're all gonna die!"

Monica wavered on the verge of yelling at Chandler. How a man in his early twenties could still act like a kindergartener she'd never know. After a brief struggle, she managed a terse, "Get the salad out of the refrigerator."

Chandler nodded as he grabbed napkins from the drawer. Monica went back to her sauce, keeping an eye on the clock.

A minute later Phoebe came home. This was almost enough to make Monica relax; there'd be enough people here to make the preparation worthwhile. After greeting Chandler, Phoebe commented, "That's the prettiest salad I've ever seen."

"Yeah. Y'know, Mon, you should consider having it laminated and used as a centerpiece."

"It's a cucumber salad, not a piece of art." Monica looked through the oven window, trying to judge the readiness of the soufflé.

"Could have fooled me," Chandler said. "I've never seen a salad that looked so symmetrical. It's like you individually aligned every single item into the bowl."

That was unfortunately close to the truth, so Monica didn't reply.

Phoebe, meanwhile, wandered over to the window. "Hey, Cute Naked Man is using gravity boots."

"You have naked people living across from you?" Chandler went to the window and did an exaggerated double-take. "Cute? You call that cute?"

"I think she means that what he does is cute rather than that he looks cute," Monica interjected.

"Well, whatever it is, it's not improved by looking at it upside down." Chandler patted Phoebe on the shoulder. "Enjoy the show, I'd rather watch Monica squat in front of the oven."

Monica glared at Chandler, then growled and looked back through the oven window. Almost time. "Go ahead and sit down, this is best when served hot and fresh, so don't go anywhere."

Chandler walked towards the door. "Let me go get Kip quick."

"No!" Monica's shout perfectly coincided with Phoebe's. Monica pressed her lips firmly together as Phoebe continued, "Kip's not invited."

"He's not? He, he and Monica... they... when, when did this happen?"

"Over the weekend." Phoebe's voice was uncharacteristically subdued. "She's still in a bit of shock, so be nice to her."

"Okay!" Monica's voice came out more loudly than she meant. She tried to bring it down a few decibels as she put on her oven mitts. "It's done, sit down."

Chandler, she was relieved to notice, made no further comments as he sat at the table. Monica drizzled the sauce over the soufflé and served Phoebe and Chandler generous portions. After serving herself, she sat down and took a bite. It was quite hot, but reasonably good.

Dinner passed in relative silence, which was quite unusual. Monica didn't mind, since any conversation would surely be about topics she preferred not to discuss. Afterwards she shooed the others out of the kitchen as she committed herself to the task of cleaning up.

Phoebe and Chandler went to the living room but, in another unusual event, didn't turn on the television. They sat and Chandler described with increasing animation the shows he had seen in Atlantic City. Monica listened as she did the dishes and found his comic descriptions and Phoebe's delighted responses to be quite soothing.

Monica finished up and went into the living room. She sat on the couch next to Phoebe and watched Chandler mimic a showgirl's dance routine. Phoebe was laughing hard and Monica smiled, enjoying Chandler's antics for once.

Behind her the door opened and Ross called out, "Hey, sorry I'm late."

"Too bad for you, the soufflé is cold now." Monica rose and turned as she spoke. "But if you want to heat-"

She stopped. Standing next to Ross was Kip. They'd evidently come in together. Kip was looking straight at her, his eyes were on her face, and she felt her skin crawl as a result. She shuddered once, mumbled, "Excuse me," and walked quickly towards her bedroom. She stepped inside, closed the door, and immediately leaned on it, her heart racing and her knees weak. Inwardly she berated herself. You're stronger than this, don't let him get to you, he's still Chandler's roommate, no reason to let him affect you like this.

But she couldn't, she just couldn't. Couldn't look at him, couldn't stand to be in his presence, couldn't bear listening to that voice. She'd invested too much of herself in what had turned out to be a false persona, and every little reminder of that hurt her deeply.

With her head next to the door, she could actually hear the conversation in the living room fairly well. It started with Phoebe saying, "Get out."

"What? Why? What, what, what did I do wrong?"

"Not you, Ross. It."

"Uh, 'it' being?"

"You know who." Phoebe's voice sounded acerbic.

"Kip and Monica broke up." Chandler, in a serious tone of voice.

"They, they did? What..." Ross's voice got dark, threatening. "What did you do to my sister?"

"Nothing. I swear to God, nothing. We, we just had a fight. I was hoping I could apologize to her."

"There are some things you can apologize for." Phoebe's tone matched Ross's perfectly. "But you can't apologize for being what you are. And that is a slimy despicable human being that's not worthy of a wonderful woman like Monica."

"Hey, look, I don't know what she told you, but I did everything I could for her. She came after me, don't forget."

"So that gives you the right to treat her however you want to?" Chandler's voice was low but not as angry as the others. "I don't know the specifics of whatever fight you two had, but I saw the way you were with her. It felt like you were clubbing a cavewoman over the head and dragging her off to your lair. Monica's a beautiful and intelligent woman and she deserves a hell of a lot more than to be simply your latest conquest."

"Oh come on, man, it wasn't anything like that. I, I liked her a lot, she-"

Phoebe interrupted him, spoke words with the force of bullets. "The very fact that you said you liked her rather than loved her shows how little she meant to you. Now, we're done trying to explain exactly how unworthy of Monica you were. Get out before I make you get out."

Silence dragged on for a minute. Then Monica heard the front door open and close, and she slid down the down and sat, weak with relief.

"I, I'm sorry, I saw him in the hallway and, and sort of led him in, I, I, I didn't know-"

"Of course you didn't." Phoebe's voice was much more friendly now. "It's his fault, not yours.

"When did this happen?"

"This weekend. She caught him in a big lie and finally realized what a phony he is."

"Well, I can't say I'm unhappy. I, I never really thought he was that great a guy. I, I'm sorta glad they broke up."

"Easy for you to say, I still have to live with him."

"Stop it, both of you. I don't care how Monica's breakup affects you guys. I only care about how it affects Monica."

"Sorry Pheebs, you're right. How's she been?"

"She'll be fine. She's been exercising a lot, and when she's not exercising she's cleaning. Or cooking. Too bad you missed dinner, Ross, it was a treat."

"I, I met Carol for dinner, we, we hadn't eaten together since- but, but is Monica really fine? She's not overdoing all of that?"

"Well, she is, but in a good way. Her aura gets murky and then she works extra hard at something and gets less murky. In time he won't be able to poison her aura anymore and she'll be over him. Just, just treat her normally, she needs that. After dinner she was almost back to normal, and that after only a couple of days. This is kind of a setback but I think she'll recover quickly. Just, just don't ask her a bunch of questions about him. She needs to get her mind off of him."

"Fair enough. Phoebe, thanks. Thanks for being there for my sister. I, I would have been useless to her."

"Me too. I would have tried to tell jokes then stuck my foot in mouth. I feel very good knowing that you're her friend. She's in good hands."

"Oh my." Phoebe sounded slightly flustered. "Oh, oh don't- I mean, anyone could have- I, oh, I'm nobody special, I just happen to live here."

"Stop that." Ross spoke with a kind of chiding amusement. "You are special. Don't try to tell yourself any differently."

"Yeah, what he said. No one makes my head spin like you do, but also no one cares for the people around her as much as you do."

"Th-thank you." Phoebe sounded deeply embarrassed. "Uh, let's, let's turn on television and watch stuff until Monica feels like coming out to talk to us again."

"Good idea. We can watch turtles doing jujitsu, that always cheers me up."

"That is so unrealistic.What kid of oozecangive turtles that kind of flexibility?"

"The same kind of ooze that makes your hair a shiny bulletproof thing of beauty, my man."

"Ha ha. What is that growing on your chin? Some kind of algae?"

"It's a goatee, man, it makes all the ladies swoon. Right Phoebe?"

"Well, y'know, only certain women. Like maybe marine biologists."

"Oooh, ouch. Score one for the Pheebster!"

Monica smiled and looked up at the ceiling. Thank you, God, for putting these people in my life.

Monica stood, turned, opened the door, and rejoined the world.

* * *

(to be continued)


	16. Monica and the Opposite Sex

Monica slammed the cue ball hard, and the balls scattered all over the table. Alas, not a single one fell into a pocket, and Monica growled at them before stepping back and waving dismissively at the table. 

Phoebe was staring at the end of her cue stick. "What's this blue stuff?"

"Chalk. To keep the tip from sliding off." Monica picked up her beer. "It's your turn."

Frowning with concentration, Phoebe gripped the stick in a manner slightly reminiscent of the way Monica had taught her, and took dead aim at the eight ball.

Monica sighed. "The white ball, you can only strike the white ball with the cue stick."

"Oh, right." Phoebe moved a bit to her left and hit the cue ball. It bounced off two balls, a rail, another ball, and another rail before coming to rest at almost exactly the point it had started at. Phoebe giggled. "That was fun! How many points is that?"

A sip of beer was sufficient to drown the irritation Monica was feeling. There were so many things about Phoebe she still didn't understand. After the breakup, Phoebe had been so calm, steady, and mature, displaying a deep understanding of what Monica was going through and how to make her feel better. Now, however, she couldn't seem to keep track of the rules of pool, despite Monica's repeated explanations. Monica wasn't certain if this was an act or not. It just didn't seem possible for anyone to be that completely ditzy. Most likely the game simply didn't interest Phoebe at all and she chose not to retain any information about. Instead Phoebe did whatever seemed like fun.

That was a difficult concept for Monica to grasp. Games were fun as long as one obeyed the rules. She'd never be able to approach games the way Phoebe did. Then again, Phoebe seemed to be enjoying herself.

But Monica couldn't help feeling that the game would be better for both of them if Phoebe could just try to do things the way they were supposed to be done. "No points. You have to knock the balls into the pockets, remember."

"Oh, yeah yeah." Phoebe sat on a nearby stool and took a sip of her Manhattan. "Go ahead and show me again."

Monica's eyes were already dancing over the felt, examining the layout. The stripes were begging to be run. She lined up her first shot and dropped it easily, at the same time leaving the cue ball ready for the next shot. With a grunt of satisfaction, she moved around the table.

She happened to pass in front of Phoebe and noticed that she wasn't watching the table at all. Monica followed her line of sight to see two men hunched over a table, drinking beer and laughing about something. Monica couldn't make out much about their faces from this angle, but they both seemed to have well-developed bodies.

Monica looked back at Phoebe. During the months they had lived together, Phoebe had yet to bring a man home. That had made Monica feel slightly guilty about all the times Kip had stayed over, and to wonder if Phoebe's proclivities lay elsewhere. Her face as she looked at the men showed definite interest.

Monica smiled and tried a gentle prompt. "See anything you like?"

"Oh yeah." Phoebe's voice had an undertone Monica had never heard before, a lusting that seemed somehow out of character yet completely natural to Phoebe. "Tell me which one you like, so long as it isn't the blonde."

Chuckling, Monica considered the men for a moment. She found her own interest aroused as well, which had to be a good sign. Still, it was a bit too soon, and she felt totally disinclined to initiate any flirting. "Take 'em both, they're yours."

"With pleasure." Phoebe took a long drink from her Manhattan but didn't move.

Monica looked Phoebe up and down, seeing her in a new way. She was tall for a woman but not so tall as to be intimidating. Her long hair was always clean and straight, which Monica was jealous of as her own shoulder-length hair was sometimes quite difficult to manage. And while Phoebe didn't work out as often as Monica did, she was still slim and curvaceous. To Monica's eyes, Phoebe was a woman that any man would find very attractive.

"When..." Monica paused, wondering if she should ask this, but plunging on before rationality could tell her to stop. "Before you moved in with me... what was it like, dating?"

Phoebe continued to stare at the men but didn't answer. Monica took that as a sign and decided to drop the subject. Probably Phoebe was trying to put all that behind her, and why not? Homeless life could not have been fun for her. Monica turned back to the pool table, lined up her shot.

"I found out very quickly you had two options living on the street. Either get raped on a regular basis or make yourself so repulsive no man would touch you. I didn't like either of those, so I picked another alternative. I chose my partners, having my fun with them but moving on quickly before either of us could get too attached. That way no one got territorial and I managed to get by."

Monica was still bent over the table, frozen by Phoebe's quiet monologue. She turned her head slightly, found another question being formed almost against her will. "Ever fall in love?"

"Love was too dangerous." Phoebe's eyes looked down at her feet. "There were people there that liked hurting themselves, and hurting the people they loved. So I always made certain that love wasn't a part of it. I made them understand that what we were doing was supposed to be fun, that's all. It didn't always work. Sometimes they fell in love anyway. Sometimes... sometimes I think I did, too. But it always ended. Nothing... nothing on the street has any stability at all. So I learned to... to give enough of myself to survive, but not so much that I'd be crushed when it fell apart."

"Oh." Monica straightened and faced Phoebe, not sure of what to say. "Then... then what I went through with Kip was nothing compared to what you've been through with men."

"Oh Monica." Phoebe looked up at her. "I don't ever want us to compare miseries. And, and I've caused as much suffering as I've been exposed to. So please, don't, don't dwell too much on what my life was like before. I... I want to... I like this life I'm having with you, I want it to be a whole new beginning."

Monica reached out, gently squeezed Phoebe's arm. "I like this life with you, too. I want you to feel comfortable doing whatever you want. If that means bringing one - or both- of those guys home with you, that's good too."

Phoebe grinned. "It would be good, I can guarantee that. I've, I've been kind of holding back, waiting to... to feel settled. But now that I am..." Her gaze drifted back towards the men. "I just might do that. It's been so long, I'm feeling a little... anxious."

Monica laughed. "Well, like I said, don't ever let me get in your way. Shall we go over and talk to them?"

"No need." Phoebe pointed with her chin.

Turning, Monica saw the two men coming up to the pool table. "Hey," said the blonde, "can I play the winner?"

Monica met Phoebe's eyes again and they grinned at each other.

* * *

.  
The day was warm, as warm as it had been for a while. Spring was at last taking hold, and Monica lifted her head to feel the breeze on her face. It was refreshing, and she needed that. 

Distantly she heard the door open and the sound of footsteps in the apartment. She looked over at the open window to see Chandler stick his head through it. "Hey, there you are."

"Here I am." Monica was in a very serene mood and the sight of Chandler mellowed her even further. She beckoned him onto the balcony.

He stepped through the window and stood next to her, looking out onto the street. "So, why exactly isn't there a door to this place? Why do we have to climb through the window?"

"I don't think this was supposed to be a balcony." Monica tapped on the waist-high brick wall. "This was an add-on, to fence in what was just supposed to be part of the roof. I think they added in the bay window at the same time."

"But... but we're not on the roof. This is just the second floor."

Monica shrugged. "Talk to Mr. Treeger, he'll explain it to you."

"I, I can't, I'm afraid he'll eat me."

"Oh, stop. He's a nice guy, he's just a little gruff sometimes."

"So was Hannibal Lecter."

"Who?"

"You haven't seen that movie? Oh man, we have so got to go see it."

"Sure. Maybe Saturday. I'll ask Ross."

"Saturday it is." Chandler pulled himself to a sitting position on top of the wall, looked down, and quickly got off. "So, where's Phoebe?"

"Out with her new boyfriend."

"Oh? Anyone I know?"

"No, just a guy we met at the bar."

"Man, I've been going to the bar for a year now, I never met anyone as gorgeous as Phoebe."

Monica chuckled. "Why didn't you ever ask Phoebe out?"

"I dunno. Phoebe's... Phoebe. She, I don't think... there's just not the right kind of chemistry. I love hanging out with her, don't get me wrong, but... I'd think we'd screw it up if we dated."

"Hmm." Monica looked out as the sun did a mini-sunset over a nearby building. "Kind of like how Kip and I screwed it up."

Silence for a few moments. "Kip... I never really thought he... fit in. I don't know how to say it, but... but I think the only reason we ever hung out with him was because you were interested in him. After you broke up, there was nothing at all likeable about the guy."

Monica thought that over, and strangely it made her feel a little better. "How's it going with you two?"

"Oh, don't worry, it's only excruciating. We don't talk, ever. I spend all my time here and he... does whatever he does in our apartment. I really really hope he moves out soon. I'm trying to think of a super-subtle way of trying to force him to leave, but so far leaving out bottles of Chianti and cans of fava beans hasn't gotten the point home yet."

"Fava beans?"

"You'll find out Saturday."

Monica looked over at Chandler. "You're so strange sometimes."

Chandler raised an eyebrow and spoke in a bad British accent. "You have no idea."

"That one I know. Jeremy Irons?"

"Ten points for the brunette." Chandler grinned briefly. "I do have one thing in my favor. The lease is in my name because I was the one that paid the deposit. So if the absolute worst comes to pass, I can force him out."

"Oh wow. I hope it doesn't come to that."

"Me too. I'm pretty sure he finds the situation as unbearable as I do and that he's looking for a new place. I'll give him time. I may not like the guy much but I don't want to force him out into the cold, either."

Monica smiled, put one arm around his waist. "You know what, kid? You're all right."

"Th-thanks." Chandler seemed slightly nervous but put his arm around her waist as well. They stood together like that for a moment, looking out over the city. Monica felt good, it was great to have a friend like Chandler.

This time she was completely surprised when Ross stuck his head through the window. "Hey."

"Hey." Monica disengaged herself from Chandler. "Chandler wants to take us to a movie on Saturday, want to come?"

Ross's eyes flicked quickly back and forth between Chandler and Monica. "Sure," he finally replied. "I'll ask Carol, too."

"Great." Monica motioned with her hands and Ross stepped away from the window. She climbed inside and walked towards the kitchen. "I didn't really prepare a dinner tonight but I can make us some sandwiches quick."

"We can make them ourselves, too." Ross stood behind Monica as she opened the refrigerator. They studied the contents together.

"Let me," Monica declared after a minute. "I want to try something."

"Something that will make me throw up?"

"I can only hope." Monica shoved Ross away. "How about you and Chandler get some beers from the store? I'm down to one."

"I've blown all my alcohol allowance on Chianti, I'm afraid," Chandler said as he came in from the balcony. "Ross, can we use your double-income-no-kids endless supply of money for this?"

"I thought we could use your mother's book earnings instead."

"Can't, she's too busy spending it all on liposuction." Chandler and Ross continued their bantering as they left together.

Monica smiled to herself as she began pulling out the ingredients she would use. Chandler really was an all-right sort of guy. No wonder he and Ross had remained friends after college. His never-ending jokes did get a little tiring, though. Monica mildly pitied whatever woman he'd marry; she'd have to have tremendous patience, the kind Monica certainly didn't possess.

Putting that thought aside, Monica began carefully crafting dinner.

* * *

(to be continued) 


	17. Monica and Secrets

Monica sat on the couch and looked out the window at the baking city. One of the perks of this apartment was central air, for which Monica found herself immensely grateful during the hot summer months. 

The door flew open and a voice gasped out, "Oh my God."

Monica laughed without turning her head. "Air conditioning still broken at work?"

"Yes, and whatever moisture that remained inside me after work was sucked out by the portable brick ovens they use as subway trains." Chandler appeared by her side, greedily sucking down a bottle of water. He got halfway through before lowering the bottle with a gasp. "All right, in the future I will never ever make fun of you for spending more on bottled water than you do on wine."

Monica raised an eyebrow. "Can I have that in writing?"

"Of course not. We both know I have no intention of keeping that promise." Chandler took off his tie and tossed it onto the coffee table. "I finally found out why Dad discovered he was gay. He couldn't stand getting choked to death every day by a stupid strip of cloth."

"Well, dispose of your sweat-soaked clothing elsewhere." Using her forefinger and thumb, Monica lifted the tie off the table and tossed it back at Chandler.

Chandler grabbed it with a sound of disgust. "Screw it, tomorrow I'm going to work naked." He took off his suit jacket and started unbuttoning his shirt.

"Tomorrow is not today!" Monica shoved a coaster towards Chandler, who was clearly looking for a place to set down his water. "This apartment is not, I repeat, not clothing optional."

"Spoilsport." Chandler had finished unbuttoning his shirt but left it on. He collapsed onto the couch beside her. "Where is everyone?"

"Phoebe should be home from work soon, don't know if Ross is coming over today. I'm declaring tonight a do-your-own-thing-for-dinner night because it's too hot to be cooking."

"Oh? You've cooked when it's hotter than this."

"I know, but it sounds like a good enough excuse to be lazy."

"Monica, I somehow doubt the word 'lazy' will ever be used to describe you."

"Well, got me there." Monica turned her head to smile at Chandler. He was drinking from the water again, so her eyes drifted down his chest and stomach. She never saw or heard of him working out, but somehow his stomach was flat. He did play basketball once in a while, now that she thought of it. Even accounting for that, though, he had a surprisingly athletic build.

She opened her mouth to ask him about it when her eyes stopped roaming. "What's that?"

Chandler stopped drinking his water. "What's what?"

"That." She pointed at his chest.

"Oh." Chandler turned bright red. "It's nothing, a congenital dealie."

"A what dealie? Does that mean you're a mutant?"

"Hey, everyone's a mutant in one way or another! I mean, look at you, have you seen how often you clean things? You were exposed to gamma-ray radiation as a kid, weren't you?"

Monica refused to be distracted. "Really, what is it?" She reached over, lifted up his shirt slightly.

Chandler slapped her hand away. "It's, er, my nubbin."

"Your nubbin?"

"A third nipple, okay? My grandfather had one too, evidently."

"Wow." Monica looked at Chandler, saw an opportunity to tease him as much as he teased everyone else. "So if you were a woman you'd have three breasts?"

"I would not-"

"You'd be your own best fantasy!"

"What do you know about my fantasies?"

"Only what you tell us every single day." She leapt to her feet. "Wait, let me get a camera."

"No!" Chandler hastily rebuttoned his shirt. "Look, let's keep this between us, okay?"

Monica grinned down at him. "You mean, I get to blackmail you with this information whenever I want to?"

Chandler rolled his eyes. "Oh, like we don't already know enough to embarrass each other twenty times worse than this."

Which was a good point. Monica decided to give him a break. "Okay, I won't tell."

"Thanks," Chandler said with relief.

"After all, there's nubbin we keep secret from each other."

Chandler winced. "The stand-up routine needs work, Mon."

"Well, look who's been teaching me." The door opened; Monica looked over and waved. "Hey Phoebe."

"Hey." Phoebe set down her guitar with a sigh. "Oh, I need a shower sooo bad."

"Me too," Chandler said as he half-turned on the couch. "Shall we wash each other's backs?"

"Oh, you." Phoebe grinned, then walked over towards the window, where a vent in the ceiling blew cool air into the room. She moaned in relief, then pointed. "Look! Cute Naked Guy is standing in front of a huge fan!"

"Phoebe, we must work on your definition of cute." Chandler stood up and walked over next to her, also looking out the window. "Wow, that is a big fan. He better not stand too close. Or, you know, get too excited by the sensation."

"Enough, Bing." Monica walked into the kitchen. "Go shower and change your clothes and I'll have dinner ready by the time you're done."

"What happened to too hot to cook?"

"I got a sudden urge to make a salad. You can still do your own thing, though."

"No salad sounds fine. Back in ten." Chandler picked up the bottle of water and took it with him as he left.

Monica glanced over at Phoebe, who was standing with her eyes closed, face lifted up towards the vent, an expression close to rapture on her face. Monica smiled as she began washing the lettuce. "So, seeing bar guy tonight?"

"Oh no, I broke up with him ages ago."

"Ages? So, who was it in your bedroom on Friday?"

"Oh, him." Phoebe giggled. "That wasn't bar guy, that was ice guy."

"Oh?" Monica chuckled. "Have I met ice guy?"

"No, I just met him a couple of weeks ago. And, and yeah, he was in my bedroom, but we just talked."

"You... just talked? To a guy? All night?"

"Yeah. We didn't want to bother you." Phoebe almost floated over to the kitchen. "He is the sweetest guy in the world."

"Is he now." Monica studied Phoebe. "Is that why you're so totally in love with him?"

"I am not!" Phoebe's blush seemed to put the lie to her words. "Besides, he's gay."

That truly surprised Monica. "You mean, gay as in happy?"

Phoebe frowned. "No, gay as in he has no sexual interest in women whatsoever."

"You spent all night in your bedroom talking to a gay man?"

"Well, he had a problem we were talking about." Phoebe sighed dreamily. "And... and he really is wonderful to talk to."

"Why did you call him ice guy?"

"He's an ice dancer."

"An ice dancer? You mean, like, a figure skater? Brian Boitano-style?"

"Yes, yes, all of that. Except much sexier."

"Sexier." Monica eyed Phoebe skeptically. "Are you certain you're not in love with him?"

"No! Yes! I mean-" Phoebe's hand fluttered. "Oh, he's just a friend, we're, we're, y'know, just friends, he, he's gay, so we can't, I, I can't possibly-"

"No, I suppose you can't." Monica went back to making her salad. "As long as you know you can't."

"Yeah." Phoebe sighed.

Monica thinned her lips. "Stop that!"

"Stop what?"

"Being in love with him."

"I'm not!"

"You are and I'm telling you to stop!" Monica began vigorously chopping carrots. "You know you can't have him, which is the only reason why you want him so bad."

"No it's not, he's smart and funny and... and I'm not in love with him, so why am I explaining anything to you!" Phoebe whirled and stomped away. Her bedroom door opened and closed, not quite with a slam.

Monica grimaced as she began working on the cucumbers. That had been unfortunate. It was the closest she'd come to having a real fight with Phoebe, but it had been necessary. Phoebe's flightiness was fine in certain respects, but she needed to have her feet solidly on the ground when it came to this guy. Otherwise she'd just end up hurting herself. And having seen her come so far, Monica would hate to see Phoebe spiral back down into the homeless, disconnected woman that had moved in last year.

So a little firmness and discipline was not out of place. Monica nodded at the righteousness of her cause and put the salad together. As long as Monica worked hard at reining in Phoebe's emotions, Phoebe was certain not to do something foolish regarding the ice dancer guy.

Feeling all was in order, Monica began tossing the salad.

* * *

.

(to be continued)

* * *

.

Author's Notes: My apologies, again, that this was so long in coming. I have been writing a lot on this story, but mostly later chapters. Right now I have quite a few months to try and cover, and few ideas on how to do it. So I'm probably going to be just writing short little bits like this, where several months pass abruptly, before getting to the better stuff later on.


	18. Monica and Fun and Sadness

Monica inhaled deeply. It was perhaps just her imagination, but she always felt more energized breathing the fresh oxygen of Central Park. "How about here?" 

Ross looked over at Chandler, who shrugged. Ross began unfolding the blanket while Chandler put down the bags he was carrying. Monica quickly began directing events, and in short order they had half the blanket covered with various finger foods. Monica grabbed a sandwich which Chandler poured wine for everyone.

"Great day," Chandler commented. "Probably gonna be one of the last."

"Oh, don't say that." Monica sighed deeply; one thing she didn't like about New York was that it seemed to get the worst kind of weather. Sweltering hot summer days, bitterly cold winter days. Today was nearly perfect, though. Somewhere above 60, a slight breeze, a bright sky. But the leaves were beginning to change color and Monica knew it wouldn't be too long before the first serious chill.

Ross had suggested a Saturday picnic lunch and Monica had agreed enthusiastically. She was afraid of spending too much time in the apartment and welcomed any chance to get out and see the rest of the world.

Ross had brought a radio and turned it on. He and Chandler listened intently for a few minutes while Monica looked out across the grass, idly watching all the other picnickers.

Chandler finally made a sound of disgust and switched stations. "God, the Yankees suck."

"They do?" Monica turned her attention away from a guy who appeared to be reading by himself under a tree. "How far out of first are they?"

"Like twenty games," Ross said. "I bet they never win a World Series again."

"Oh, come on." Monica shook her head. "Don't be like that. I remember how excited you were when Reggie Jackson hit those home runs to beat the Dodgers. You were yelling 'The dynasty is back!' if I recall. So what if it's been twelve years, you can't give up on them now."

Chandler chuckled. "Y'know, I sometimes think it's a good thing you're not into spectator sports. I think you'd be one scary fan."

Monica took a moment to decide whether or not to be amused by the observation. Chandler's easy grin decided it for her. "Yeah, you're probably right. I'd hate seeing my team lose."

"There's an understatement," Ross said mildly. "Chandler, did I ever tell you that she broke my nose once?"

"Oh, let's so not go there, Ross," Monica said testily. "Want me to begin the litany? Like, say, tell Chandler about the summer you lived in Nana's apartment before I got there and the reasons for it?"

Ross winced. "He already knows, but point taken."

Chandler piped in. "Someday I want to know the broken nose story."

"Well, someday maybe you will." Monica lay back on the grass. "But please not today."

"Fair enough." Chandler grabbed a sandwich. "So, where's Phoebe again?"

"Spending the day with Duncan."

"Who?"

"A guy she met." Monica pondered how much to divulge and decided it was too complicated and too likely to spoil her mood. "Just a friend, they're not dating or anything."

"Ah." Chandler took a bite of his sandwich, swallowed, then continued contemplatively. "I had quite a lot of those. Women who just wanted to be friends. And yet, they never stuck around."

"Because you'd get drunk and try to quoting Canterbury Tales at them." Ross smiled gently. "Except it all came out sounding like limericks somehow."

"Well, if Chaucer had been Irish, then Canterbury Tales would have been written in limericks. But that's nothing, I mean Shakespeare wrote limericks." Chandler seemed to warm up slightly to the subject. "But also keep in mind, limericks of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries bear little resemblance to today's limericks. Some limericks were ten or twelve lines or longer. It wasn't until o'Bedlam that-"

"And he wonders why he's single," Ross interjected.

Chandler winced. "One of these days, one of these days, I'm going to find a woman who's impressed by all of that."

Truth be told, Monica was slightly impressed; sometimes it was easy to forget that behind all the witty banter Chandler was actually a pretty smart guy. Monica put that thought aside and focused on Ross. "So, tell me, at exactly which point did you show Carol your dinosaur slides? First or second date?"

"Second. I didn't have many at the time, though, it was just an excuse to drive Chandler out of the room and turn the lights off."

"And believe me, it worked. I mean, you've seen one oversized iguana you've seen them all." Chandler looked over at Monica. "So, what topics of conversation do you bring up on your dates, Mon? Talk about cooking?"

Monica lifted one shoulder. "Everyone likes food, so it's an ice-breaker, but usually not much more." Not that she'd had many dates at all in her life. She'd have to rectify that. Her eyes moved over to the guy sitting under the tree. "I usually wait for men to fall out of the sky and ask me out."

Chandler chuckled. "Happen often?"

"Not yet, but it might."

"So, you're hoping there's a flash of light, some music, and a man will appear?"

"A big man. Muscular. No shirt." Monica grinned. "And a sword."

"A sword?"

"Yeah. A big sword strapped to his back. He'll take me away to another world where he has a huge stone castle."

Chandler experimentally lifted a plastic knife into the air. "This do anything for you?"

"Not even a little bit." Monica reached over, patted Chandler on the head, then stood up. Feeling the eyes of Ross and Chandler on her back, she wandered over to the man on the tree.

He looked up as she approached. A little to her surprise, he was quite cute. She grinned at him. "Watcha reading?"

The man blinked at her a couple of times. Then he lifted up the book. "Just a John Grisham novel. It's about a lawyer."

Monica tilted her head slightly, trying to get a read on him. As she did, a smile spread across his face. She decided it was a joke and smiled back at him. "Well, it's too good a day to be sitting by yourself reading a book. Care to join me and my friends?"

The man looked over at Chandler and Ross, then back at her. The smile widened. "Sure." He stood up, picking up a cooler as he did so. "I happen to have some beers, too."

"Great. We just have wine." She led him back over to the blanket and the wide-eyed expressions of Ross and Chandler. "So, this is my brother Ross and my neighbor Chandler."

The man held out his hand. "Hey guys. Call me Bobby."

Chandler was the first to react. "Just so long as you don't call me Channy." He shook Bobby's hand.

Ross responded next. "Bobby, hi. Ross Geller."

"Geller." Bobby nodded, then turned to Monica. "So, I'm guessing that's your last name, too, but I don't think I have your first name quite yet."

She smiled in response. "Monica. Monica Geller."

"Monica." He held out his hand and they shook, the thrill of first touch running through both of them.

"Want some wine?" Chandler almost thrust a bottle between them.

"Sure!" Bobby released Monica's hand and sat down. He opened the cooler, lifted out a can. "Want a beer?"

"I'm good." Chandler poured a glass of wine and handed it to Bobby.

Bobby took a couple of swallows, then flashed a smile. "So, is this the part where you all drug me and steal my kidneys?"

Monica laughed, as did Ross and Chandler. Ross seemed to relax marginally. "We're nice guys, don't let the fact that Chandler is still holding a plastic knife like a sword fool you."

Chandler quickly dropped the knife. "Besides, if I wanted anyone's kidneys I would have stolen my roommate's by now."

Monica frowned slightly. "Still your roommate?"

"He moves out in two weekends. I have a celebratory parade planned for noon."

Bobby laughed heartily. "I take it you didn't get along."

"No." Chandler glanced at Monica. "No, not really. I'll be celebrating having the apartment all to myself."

Ross raised an eyebrow. "Can you afford that?"

"Well, for a little bit. As long as I don't ever, y'know, eat."

Bobby laughed again. "Tell you what. After he moves out I'll organize a party, bring a keg. We'll get you so wasted you'll forget how hungry you are."

Chandler nodded in comic thoughtfulness, at the same time looking at Bobby appraisingly. "I know we haven't known each other very long, but you seem like a fun guy. Feel free to throw as many parties as you want."

"Be careful. I just might take you up on that." Bobby grin, turned back towards Monica. "How about you? Care to join me in throwing your neighbor the party of his life?"

Monica had to take a moment to answer. She had never, ever been quite this forward with a man, and had found the sensation of inviting him over to be exhilarating. And then, somehow, she'd lost control of the conversation, and Bobby had focused exclusively on Ross and Chandler, leaving Monica feel resentful. Now, however, he was looking at her again, with that easy smile and wavy hair, and she felt attracted to him all over again. She decided he was worth her best smile. "Sure. I'll cater the event. I'm a chef after all."

"Really? Wow!" Bobby seemed genuinely excited. "I can't cook anything more complicated than eggs on toast. You must fix all sorts of fancy stuff."

"Sometimes." A warm glow settled over Monica. She was getting a different vibe from Bobby than she had from Kip, and anything different had to be good. "If you want to come to dinner tomorrow, I'll fix you something special."

"Sounds terrific." He smiled again.

Monica looked down and picked up her wine glass, breaking eye contact with Bobby before her eyes burst out of their sockets. This was different, this was good, Kip was behind her forever, gone out of her life, and now at last she could truly move on.

* * *

Monica set down the groceries with a grunt. For the first time she was beginning to worry that she had moved too far too quickly with Bobby. She'd practically thrown herself at him in the park, and somehow found herself agreeing to help Chandler throw a party, and now had hours of work ahead of her preparing hors d'oeuvres for twenty people. Chandler and Ross had invited their co-workers over, and Bobby was bringing a friend or two. It seemed a tad overwhelming.

Still, Bobby had proved to be very easy-going. More importantly, the guys seemed to like him, which already made him a better person than Kip. The party would be a good opportunity to get to know him in a relatively safe environment. She had taken a huge chance in the park, and wanted to make certain she hadn't made a big mistake.

She spent a few minutes unpacking and organizing the food. The party was at seven, which should give her plenty of time to do everything she wanted to do. She began washing the celery, her mind racing with the tasks ahead.

The door opened. Monica quickly glanced over. "Hey Phoebe. Just a reminder that the party is tonight. You can still bring people if you want, we should have plenty of food."

Phoebe didn't respond. This was unusual enough that Monica turned around to look at her. Phoebe still had her coat on and was shuffling over to the couch. In her hand she held a paper bag. Monica eyed it, realized it was from a fast-food joint. Phoebe sat on the couch and opened the bag. She removed the wrapping from what turned out to be a hamburger. She held it in front of her face and stared at it.

Monica frowned, opened her mouth.

Phoebe bit into the hamburger.

Monica's mouth remained open, her brain frozen by what she'd seen. Phoebe mechanically began chewing, her eyes staring at the opposite wall. She still hadn't spoken.

Panic rose inside Monica. She put the celery into the sink and walked quickly into her bedroom. She closed the door, picked up the phone, and quickly dialed a number, praying that it would be answered.

It was after two rings. "Hello?"

"Oh thank God. Carol, I need your help."

"Monica?" Carol sounded confused.

"Oh, yes, hi, it's your sister-in-law. Look, you're a therapist, right?"

"Well, that's part of what I do, yes. What's wrong?"

"My roommate is eating a hamburger!"

"Oh." Carol seemed nonplussed. "And why does this upset you?"

"Because she's a vegetarian!"

"And you're offended that she's decided to change her diet?"

"No! I mean-" Monica drew a breath to calm herself. "Phoebe isn't a vegetarian for dietary reasons. She truly believes that killing animals to eat them creates bad karma. She, she's not a fanatic about it, she doesn't try to make everyone else stop eating meat. Her belief is, is very personal, and she believes in it so strongly, she truly believes that eating meat is evil. And she's doing it, she's doing it right now, right in the other room!"

"Okay, okay, I get the picture." Carol's voice was soothing, almost professionally so. "Look, I can't... diagnose over the phone the motivations of a woman I don't know at all. So I can't tell you why she's doing that, not without meeting with her and talking to her about it."

"Well, can you guess? I, I need to know what this means!"

Carol sighed. "If I were to take a guess, I'd say she's punishing herself."

"Punishing herself?"

"Yes. She did something wrong, and she knows it, and she feels a need to hurt herself. Do you know what that could be?"

Monica's mind was a whirlwind and she tried to focus. "I, she, she's been... seeing this guy, Duncan. But, but he's gay, so he's not interested in her, they've been going out as just friends, but, but I could tell she was falling in love with him, and I told her not to, that she was... was..."

"Was setting herself up to be hurt?"

"Yes!" Monica paused. "Do you think that's what's happened? That, that something happened between her and Duncan? And that because she was warned but still did something stupid and got hurt, that she needs to punish herself over it?"

"It's a possibility. I'm not saying that for certain, mind you. But it could be the case."

"What do I do!" Monica heard her voice getting louder and fought to quiet her tone. "She, she was so there for me when, when I was all depressed over Kip, she knew just what to say and do and she helped me get over him. And, and now I don't know what to do for her, I'm, I'm so useless."

"Monica... look, just respond to her the way she responded to you in the same situation. You know it works because it helped you."

"But, but she's different." Monica switched the phone to her other ear, wiping the sweat off her hand. "Phoebe's mother killed herself when she was fourteen and she was living on the street until last year when she moved in with me. And she nearly lost it, she nearly flipped out the very first night she stayed here, I, I'm afraid... Oh, I don't want her to commit suicide, I'm so afraid that I'll say or do something that will kill her."

"Oh." Carol didn't say anything for a few seconds while Monica nervously paced around her bedroom. Finally, Carol spoke. "Look, suicidal tendencies are not inherited. Just because her mother killed herself doesn't mean Phoebe is more or less likely to do the same. Plus suicide is a private thing. She ate the hamburger in front of you, right?"

"Uh, yeah. Right in the middle of the living room."

"Then she wanted you to see. She wanted you to be near. Monica, your roommate is not Humpty Dumpty - she won't fall to pieces at the slightest touch. She's a normal human being, much the same as you are. Treat her like that, and you'll do fine. You know your roommate much better than I do; help her in whatever manner seems best. I have faith in you."

Monica stopped pacing, stood still for a moment, thought that over. The panic subsided just the tiniest bit. "Okay. Okay, I'll try."

"Good." Carol sounded pleased. "Call if you need anything, but I kind of have the feeling you won't need any more help."

"I, I'll always need help." Even as she said that, she found her confidence building. "Thanks, Carol."

"You're welcome. Good luck."

"Bye." Monica hung up the phone and looked at the door. Slowly she put the phone on the table and opened her bedroom door.

Phoebe was still sitting on the couch. Her hamburger now looked half-eaten. Taking a breath, Monica walked over to the kitchen.

As quickly as she could, she chopped up some lettuce, dumped it in a small bowl, added celery and cucumbers, and poured a little bit of vinaigrette over it. Monica grabbed a fork, stuck it into the salad, and walked purposefully into the living room.

With her free hand, Monica took hold of the hamburger. Phoebe made an incoherent sound of protest and tightened her grip on it. Monica made her voice hard and unyielding as she said, "Let go."

Phoebe looked up at her, looking guilty and forlorn. Then she dropped her hands. Monica pulled the hamburger away and offered the salad instead. "Eat this."

Phoebe looked at the bowl, back up at Monica, then back at the bowl. Slowly she reached up and cupped it in her hands.

Monica released her grip on the bowl. She went into the kitchen and threw the remains of the hamburger into the garbage. Quickly she returned to the living room and sat on the couch next to Phoebe. "What happened?"

Phoebe wouldn't meet her eyes, instead staring at the salad. "Duncan left."

"Left? Left New York?"

"Yeah."

"Forever?"

"For long enough."

"Oh." Monica found a lecture fighting to get out of her lips. That Phoebe had made a big mistake falling in love with a gay man, and that this depression was of her own making. But Monica recalled quite clearly how relieved she'd been that no one had given her an "I told you so" over Kip. Phoebe certainly wouldn't appreciate hearing one now.

Monica reached out, stroked Phoebe's hair. "I'm sorry."

"Why? It's not your fault!"

"It's... it's no one's fault. I just wanted you to know I feel bad, too. I know how much you liked him."

"Yes, and that's the problem, isn't it? I liked him too much, I like people too much, and just when I like them the most, they go away!" Phoebe slammed the salad bowl on the coffee table and stormed into her bedroom.

Monica felt her heart pounding. Phoebe had rejected her, had gone to by herself. Suicide is a private thing. She'd tried to help and all she'd done was drive Phoebe away.

Some bits of lettuce had fallen onto the coffee table. Monica leaned over, put them back into the bowl, trying to steady herself. She wished life could be as simple as this, that all she had to do was find the pieces of Phoebe that had been shattered and putting them back into place. But she was useless. Useless and helpless. Oh God, what do I do now?

The bedroom door opened. Monica looked up, saw that Phoebe was now dressed in her flannel pajamas. Without looking at Monica, she sat next to her on the couch. Phoebe picked up the bowl, took the fork, and speared some of the salad. She settled back into the couch and began eating the salad.

Monica watched for a minute, wishing she could see whatever auras Phoebe claimed to see around people. She couldn't see anything surrounding Phoebe, but she still had a sense that Phoebe was calmer than she had been a couple of minutes ago.

She opened her mouth without any idea of what she was going to say. "Would you like some water?"

Phoebe shook her head.

"Want... want to watch something on television?"

Phoebe shook her head again.

Monica's mind floundered, trying to think of what else to say.

"Don't you have to get food ready for the party?"

Monica blinked, surprised by Phoebe's question. "Don't worry about that."

"But I know you worry about it. Go fix the food. I'll be all right."

"Phoebe..." Monica sighed. "I don't care about the party, I just care about you."

"I... I know." At last, Phoebe met Monica's gaze. "But, but it would help me if, if you'd just keep yourself busy doing what you love to do. If, if I can hear you being all Monica-esque in the kitchen, that, that will help me as much as anything could."

"Oh." Monica tilted her head. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Phoebe turned back to her salad, took another bite.

"Okay." Monica got to her feet. She looked down at Phoebe, feeling inadequate.

But not entirely. Phoebe was here, in the living room, eating the salad Monica had made for her. That had to be better than eating a hamburger by herself. Maybe it was better that Phoebe wasn't suddenly magically all right, but took tiny little steps towards getting past Duncan.

Reluctantly, Monica walked back into the kitchen and began preparing for the party.

* * *

(to be continued) 


	19. Monica and Pajamas

The music wasn't very loud, at Monica's insistence so that they wouldn't bother the neighbors too much. This was the second celebratory party in as many weeks, at the insistence of Bobby and Chandler, who commented that one weekend didn't quite make up for a year of suffering. The music was almost difficult to hear over the sound of the conversations going on. 

There were many more people here than Monica had thought possible. Ross had invited a lot of people from the museum, Chandler had dragged in a bunch of people from his temp job, and Bobby had produced his own gaggle of followers. Monica's three friends from work seemed hardly adequate.

Bobby fought his way through the crowd and offered her a beer. She showed him her half-full glass and shook her head. He quickly drained his own beer and started sipping from the can he'd brought for her. "So, hey, it's going great, huh?"

Monica looked around and nodded. People did seem to be enjoying themselves. There was lots of laughter, some dancing, and lots and lots of drinking and eating. The food she had prepared was almost entirely gone, which very much pleased her.

"So, tell me more about this guy that moved out. Last week I got so wasted I can't remember much about what Chandler said. Real loser, huh?"

"Oh yeah." Monica looked over at Kip's old bedroom. Chandler had converted it into a dance floor for this party, and was even now bouncing around it looking rather like a marionette with its strings caught in a tornado. People were cheering him on, and Monica wondered how long it would be before he threw up or collapse in total exhaustion.

Bobby wasn't done with the questions. "Was there some kind of history between you two?"

"Yeah. There was." She made a shooing motion with one hand. "I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all." Bobby laughed. "This isn't a night for being moody, it's a time to party! Live it up, Monica!"

She smiled at him. They clinked beer cans and she took a moderate sip while he chugged down half of it. She watched him as he did so and decided she liked watching him. He was pretty cute and a blast to hang around with so far. Monica looked down at her beer can, wondering how drunk she was, how far lowered her inhibitions were at this point, and whether she should drink more in an attempt to lower them all the way.

"Hey, there you are." Ross came up, his smile sliding towards silliness, which indicated he was at least halfway towards being drunk himself. "So, glad that Kipface is gone?"

Monica snorted. "What do you think the answer is? Yes, of course I'm glad. Now I can actually come over to Chandler's apartment for a change."

"Oh?" Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying you and Chandler-?"

"Good God, no." Monica shook her head bemusedly. "We just hang out together. He comes over for dinner a lot with my brother and my roommate, Phoebe."

"Cool." Bobby grinned, slapped Ross on the back. "So, Geller, we haven't really talked yet. What's your story? Have a girlfriend?"

"No, a wife." Ross's smile dimmed slightly, Monica was sad to notice. "She's not here."

"Well, next time the party will be at your place and we'll show her a good time." Bobby paused. "I mean, a good party time, not a good time time, if you know what I mean."

"Hey, any good time would be a good time." Ross shook himself slightly. "What do you do, Bobby?"

"Bah. Whatever I do during the day is just an excuse to have enough money to enjoy the night. Rock on, dude!" He clinked beer cans with Ross and quickly quaffed the rest of his beer.

Ross took a small sip, and looked over at Monica. "So, is Phoebe coming?"

"No." Monica looked down at her beer and decided that she'd keep her inhibitions in place for tonight. She set the beer can on the coffee table. "She's still in her pajama phase. After work she just sits there and stares and doesn't say anything unless you ask her a question. I, I want to, to kind of snap her out of it but I'm not sure how."

"Oh, that's easy," Ross said. "Just make her have fun."

"Oh, it's easy, is it?" Monica glared at the slightly rose-faced visage of her brother. "How do you make it so she'll have fun?"

"Lotsa ways. Call me tomorrow, I have an idea."

"All right." She eyed his beer. "What time will you be getting up? Noon?"

"Anyone who gets up before 3pm on a Sunday didn't party hard enough the night before." Bobby slipped an arm around Monica's shoulders. "You're a great girl, Monica, but man, let loose just a little bit. It'll be fun, I guarantee."

Monica discovered that she liked the physical contact, and didn't mind so much that he was trying to goad her into enjoying herself more. She put her arm around his waist and felt free and comfortable doing so in a way she'd never felt with Kip. Which had to be a very good sign. "All right, I'll try."

"Awesome." Bobby tried to drink from his empty beer can. He looked forlornly at the refrigerator, and Monica could almost see the battle going on in his head: stay here and maintain contact with Monica, or go over and get another beer. Monica looked at him, idly wondering which side of him would win.

Bobby looked back over into the dance area. He crushed his beer can and threw it. With remarkable accuracy, it bounced off Chandler's head. "Yo! Tony Manero! Stop scaring animals and small children and get me another beer!"

Chandler looked a little relieved at the interruption. He smiled as the people around him laughed. "You're no fun, Bobby."

"I am too! Beer, dance-boy."

"Yes, Sahib. My feet are like wings, Sahib." Chandler gave a mocking bow and ran towards the kitchen.

Monica grinned and looked up at Bobby. "You are fun, Bobby."

"Fun Bobby!" Bobby yelled out to the crowd. "I have now been officially rechristened by Monica, you are all to call me Fun Bobby from this moment forward!"

This was meant with general cheering. Monica laughed, then impulsively kissed Fun Bobby to the sound of even louder acclaim.

* * *

Monica walked into the apartment, saw Phoebe, and groaned.

Phoebe looked over from where she sat, in her pajamas, on the couch. "What's wrong?"

"God, I'm still hung over. I like Fun Bobby's parties but I always wake up with a headache that lasts all day." She stumbled into her bedroom, changed, and walked out.

Phoebe looked up in surprise. "Going to bed early?"

"Maybe. I'll try to fix dinner first." Monica readjusted her pajamas so they hung a little more loosely, then walked into the kitchen. Simple would be best, spaghetti and salad. She began gathering the ingredients.

The door burst open and Chandler came in singing. "Happy happy joy joy! Happy happy joy joy! Happy happy joy joy joy!"

Monica frowned at him. "What is that?"

"Monica, you have got to get cable. You're becoming isolated from today's culture." Chandler did a strange kind of dance that Monica had never seen before. "I'm celebrating a month of Kip-less existence."

Phoebe cocked her head. "In your pajamas?"

"Yes!" Chandler pulled at his tee-shirt. "Since he's been gone I've been wandering around naked - just because I can! But for dinner I'd thought I'd at least throw this on."

"Thank God." Monica began emptying cans of tomato paste into a pot. "Dinner will be twenty minutes."

Chandler pointed a finger at her. "Cable. It's not too late to join the MTV generation."

"I thought it was the Pepsi generation?"

"Depends on which advertising agency you accept as the Word of God." Chandler walked over, plopped down on the loveseat. "So, Pheebs, how's the whole massage smelly biz going?"

Phoebe didn't seem respond. Monica sneaked a peek over and saw that Phoebe was just staring at Chandler with a slightly confused look. To his credit, Chandler's expression was perfectly innocent as he looked back at her.

The door opened again. "Hey everyone. Man, it's colder outside than it looks."

"Hi Ross." Monica dumped the spaghetti into the water, added a bit of oil, then turned to see Ross unbuttoning his full-length black winter coat. He took it off, revealing a set of bright blue silk pajamas underneath. Monica smiled and couldn't help commenting, "Ooh, you're all shiny."

"Hey, they feel good against my skin." Ross hung up his coat. "I just bought them yesterday, decided I needed to wear them in before I actually sleep in them.

He went to the refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of water, then walked over to the couch and sat next to Phoebe. "Hey."

Phoebe's eyes were now quite wide. She looked at Ross, then at Chandler, then over towards the kitchen. Monica had to quickly avert her eyes, afraid she'd burst out laughing if she looked back at Phoebe.

No one said anything for perhaps a minute. Then, finally, Phoebe burst out with a plaintive, "What are you doing? You're all being silly!"

Monica laughed, unable to contain herself anymore. Chandler joined in, but Ross merely grinned. "Who says we're being silly?"

"I do! You are! You're all wearing pajamas for no reason!"

"How about that." Ross reached over, slightly tugged Phoebe's pajama top. "We're wearing pajamas for no reason."

Phoebe blushed slightly. "I, I have a reason."

"Well, so do we." Ross folded his arms across his chest. "As long as you wear pajamas, we'll wear them, too."

"That's no reason!"

"It's as good a reason as yours."

Phoebe grimaced. "You don't know my reasons."

"I know more than you might think." Ross's voice was a little more sober. "I know that you feel something inside of you dying, and you just want to hide inside yourself and hope that if you hide long enough, the world will magically change around you. But it doesn't. Wishing for love you never had won't make it appear. You can either sit and mope about it, or you can enjoy the time you spend with people who do love you." Ross grinned again. "I know which one I prefer. How about you, Pheebs?"

Phoebe looked down, looked over at Chandler, who nodded, then over to Monica, who raised an eyebrow. Phoebe looked back at Ross, then sighed. "If, if I change out of my pajamas, will you all do the same?"

"Sure!" Chandler leaped to his feet. "I've got a tux I've been dying to try on. Be right back!" He ran from the apartment.

Phoebe watched him leave, then looked back over at Ross, a questioning look on his face.

Ross snorted. "He's not really going to change into a tuxedo. I'll be right back, gonna borrow some clothes from Chandler." He smiled at Phoebe, then stood and left as well.

Monica wanted to look at Phoebe but the sauce and noodles were at a critical phase. She stirred the sauce quickly, then lifted the pot with the noodles and dumped it into the sieve she had set up in the sink. While it was draining she returned to the sauce, regretting, stirring it some more while lowering the temperature on the stove.

"Was this your idea?"

"No, it was Ross." Monica decided things could keep for a couple of minutes, and turned to face Phoebe. "But I agreed something needed to be done. You've been miserable far longer than you needed to be. We just wanted to snap you out of it and realize that things aren't so bad as you think they are."

Phoebe blinked. "They aren't?"

Monica paused a moment. Phoebe's question seemed sincere. Monica wished she knew exactly what had happened between Phoebe and Duncan, but she felt confident enough to answer, "No, they aren't."

"Okay. Okay." Phoebe went towards her bedroom. "I knew I should trust you guys."

Monica blew out a relieve sigh and walked quickly into her own bedroom to change. That had gone surprisingly well. Phoebe would recover now, and Kip was gone, and Monica had a new boyfriend, and life was as perfect as it could be.

Almost. Monica's slight smile faded, wondering how much of Ross's speech to Phoebe was based on his problems with Carol. Monica shoved that thought aside, chastising herself for trying to invent reasons to feel bad. Everyone was happy - right here, right now, everything was good.

Ross yelled something about the spaghetti from the kitchen, and Monica smiled and ran out to join everyone for dinner.

* * *

(to be continued) 


	20. Monica and her New Boyfriend

The door almost burst open as Monica stumbled through it, Bobby driving her forward. She laughed as they tried to hold each other up. Bobby grabbed her, pulled her in for a kiss. She responded enthusiastically for a few seconds, then slid off him to close the apartment door and lock it up. 

Bobby took the opportunity to go to the refrigerator. "Got any beers?"

"Should. Help yourself." Monica walked on her tiptoes towards Phoebe's room. The door was open and the room dark, to Monica's mild relief. No need to keep the noise down for now. Monica wondered idly where Phoebe was, and then saw the illuminated hands of Phoebe's clock. Only a little after nine. Surprising; it felt much later.

Monica turned quickly, which caused the room to spin more than it should.  
"Oooh, I feel sick. I need some air." She wove her way over to the small window, opened it, stepped out onto the terrace. Monica leaned against the brick wall and hung her head out into open space, hoping the breeze would revive her.

She heard Bobby join her on the porch. "Hey, you all right?"

"Yeah. Just been a while since I've let myself get this drunk." She groaned, straightened up. "At least, I hope I'm drunk and not pregnant."

"Eep." Bobby opened his beer, lifted it towards the night sky. "Here's to Monica merely being drunk."

Monica smiled as Bobby took a swig. "Here, here."

Bobby set the can on top of the wall and looked around. "Blimey. That guy's got no clothes on."

Monica chuckled. "That's Phoebe's Cute Naked Guy."

"Cute?"

"Talk to Phoebe about that."

"Are they dating?"

"No. We've never talked to him. We just watch him."

"Watch the naked man parade about?"

"What's the point of voyeurism if there's nothing to voyeur?"

"Er, what does that mean?"

"I'm not entirely sure." Monica stretched her arms, feeling lethargic, the alcohol making her sleepy. "It doesn't seem to bother him that anyone nearby can see, so we don't feel guilty about making comments. Least, I don't."

"My, my." Bobby grinned. "It seems to be a joke amongst your friends about how serious and straight-laced you are, but underneath that, there's a bit of a naughty girl, isn't there?"

"No there isn't," Monica said reflexively.

"Yes there is." Bobby's voice was teasing. "You love to watch, don't you?"

"I do not!" Monica felt her face begin to heat up.

"I bet you do. We've found her, haven't we? Underneath the prim and proper Monica. There's a woman with her own peculiar desires that only takes a few beers to bring out."

"God, Bobby." Monica shot a look of disgust at him. "Is that your fantasy?  
To think that underneath every woman there's a wanton creature yearning to get out? Well, guess what. There isn't. Just... just 'cuz I might tolerate naked men walking about their apartment doesn't mean I'm some kinda pervert."

"Maybe not." Bobby gently clasped her shoulders, turned her to face him.  
"But there's something under there that wouldn't mind losing control once in a while, huh?"

"I, I like control." Her heart was suddenly beating quickly.

"Sure you do. It's like beating your head against a wall. It feels so good when you stop." He reached down, began unbuttoning her shirt.

"What, what are you doing?"

"Giving Cute Naked Guy his own show."

"Hey!" Monica stepped back, her blouse hanging open. "What, what makes you think I would ever participate in anything like that?"

Bobby grinned, picked up his beer can. "You're still banging your head, Monica. Try stopping."

Monica glared at him, then looked into the apartment. She bit her lip, then stepped past Bobby into the apartment. Monica stepped briefly into the bathroom, then went to the kitchen and turned out the lights. With the apartment completely dark, she slowly made her way back to the window.

She stepped out into the balcony, handed Bobby something she'd pulled from the kitchen closet, and spread a beach blanket on the ground.

Bobby stared blankly at what he held. "Uh, does this mean what I think it means?"

"It means," Monica said as sat on the blanket and began working at Bobby's pants, "that perhaps I wouldn't mind losing a little bit of control, but that I'm not entirely ready to give everyone a show. And it means that even if I loosen up a bit, I'm not about to get pregnant."

Bobby looked at her, then laughed softly. "So this is you being wanton in a very controlled manner?"

Monica grinned up at him. "Now you understand. Oh, and Cute Naked Guy can't see much with my blouse still on."

"He'd need some infrared binoculars to see anything in this light."

"Well, let's give him the chance." She held her arms out to her side.

Bobby knelt and took off her blouse. Monica leaned in, kissed him fiercely, and let just a little wantonness slip out into the open.

* * *

Monica looked up at the stars, idly stroking Bobby's back. He appeared to be asleep, which was fine for the moment although she'd have to wake him soon before Phoebe got home.

She was trying to decide how much she'd enjoyed this. Certainly the sex had been fine, but Bobby was pushing her in directions she wasn't certain she wanted to go. He lived such a chaotic, happy-go-lucky life, moving from party to party and having a ball all the while. Certainly she enjoyed spending time with him, but at the same time she did enjoy the occasional peace and quiet. In the weeks she'd spent with Bobby, the only time they'd really just sat and talked was at that first picnic in the park.

Did she need that? Did she need talky, feely sort of stuff? Or was it all right to just go out and have as much fun as possible for as long as it could last?

Monica half-closed her eyes and sighed. What was terrific was that she had a choice. For the first time in her life, she could dictate the terms of a relationship. In high school, there had been times she would have settled for anyone at all, no matter how horribly they treated her. Being in control made her feel wonderful.

Suddenly light came through the bay windows. Monica stifled a shriek and shook Bobby. "Wake up! Wake up!"

Bobby started. "What? What?"

"Phoebe's home." Monica rolled over and put her back to the wall in the corner between the bay window and the small window. "Get your clothes on, now!"

Bobby blinked at her a few times, then grabbed for his pants.

Monica looked around the terrace, groaning. Clothes were strung everywhere; she and Bobby had been a little too exuberant in removing them from each other. Monica grabbed her blouse and quickly put it on. She found her slacks and socks but couldn't find anything else. Cursing, she wriggled into her slacks. "Don't worry about anything else, just get into my bedroom."

Bobby was just finishing pulling his shirt over his head. He nodded and climbed into the window.

Monica threw her socks into the middle of the beach towel. Biting her lip, she looked around, spied her bra hanging halfway over the wall. She reached over, grabbed it, tossed it into the middle of the beach towel, then quickly rolled it up. She heard her bedroom door close, which meant Bobby had made good his escape. Quickly, she stepped inside.

She took two steps and stopped. Standing in the kitchen, holding the refrigerator door open, was Chandler. He looked terribly, awfully amused.  
He looked her up and down and said in a casual manner, "Hi Mon."

"Hey." Monica felt her face turning completely red. "What are you doing here?"

"Was just going to fix myself a bedtime sandwich. I thought you and Phoebe were still out."

"Well, we're not." Monica tried to work up a righteous anger but was unable to do so. Chandler using the kitchen when no one else was home was not without precedent, and she found herself unwilling to demand that he stop doing so. All she could mumble was, "Don't leave the refrigerator open like that," and run towards her bedroom.

"Nice outfit, Mon."

Monica stopped just outside her bedroom. She took in a breath and turned to face him. "Please don't."

Chandler let the refrigerator door close. "Don't what?"

"Don't... don't joke about this."

"Do you see me making a joke?" Chandler grinned. "I thought I was being remarkably restrained about the whole thing."

"You, you are." Monica grimaced. "Just, just please, don't, don't joke about it in front of everyone else either, okay?"

"Don't joke!" Chandler looked comically stricken. "Monica, I could turn this into a month's worth of yucks for everyone."

"Please. Please don't."

Chandler shrugged, sounded sincerely casual. "Sure. I owe you for the nubbin."

Monica let out a relieved sigh. "Thanks."

"But why not?" Chandler leaned back against the sink. "Everyone already knows you're dating Bobby, what's so unusual about this?"

"I..." Good question, actually. "I... just don't want people to think I, I act like this all the time."

"What, have sex? Did you really think we were under the impression you and Bobby played tiddlywinks all night in your bedroom?"

"Bedroom, sure, but..." Monica trailed off, trying to formulate the words.

"But, you don't everyone to think you're an exhibitionist. You've got an image to maintain and it's important to you." Chandler nodded to himself.  
"I understand. Fun Bobby's like that, he gets you to act silly in ways you never would normally. I know it's not you, Mon, and I think everyone else would understand that, too. But I'll let you tell them when you're ready to tell them."

Monica blinked at him. "Wow. When did you turn into Dr. Joyce Brothers?"

"Never, but my father does a darned good impersonation."

Monica smiled. "Thanks, Chandler."

"Hey, any time." He pushed himself away from the sink, waved at her, and left the apartment.

Monica turned and opened her bedroom door. Bobby had collapsed on the bed and appeared to be fully asleep. Monica studied him, still clutching the towel full of clothes. It was so odd. Bobby could make her laugh until she cried, but Chandler could make her smile. And somehow, the smiles felt better than the laughter.

Thinking deeply, Monica carried the towel with her to the closet and prepared for bed.

* * *

Monica held her hand to her forehead, the pressure helping the headache a little bit. With her other hand she took two aspirin from the bottle in the bathroom closet. She popped them in her mouth, then turned on the faucet and cupped a bit of water in her hand. She managed to bring a fair portion of it to her mouth and swallowed.

Having accomplished that minor feat, she walked out into the living room. She looked at the kitchen and decided coffee could wait. Monica fell back into the love seat and let her head loll back.

The door opened and a relatively cheerful voice called out. "Hey."

"Hey." Monica opened one eye to catch the smiling visage of her brother. "You're in a good mood."

"And I'm guessing you're hung over." Ross tilted his head. "Want me to fix you breakfast?"

"Some coffee would be lovely," Monica decided.

"Sure thing." Ross busied himself in the kitchen. "Fun Bobby here?"

"Nah, he went home."

"Phoebe?"

"Dunno. Do you see her guitar?"

"Yeah." Ross walked across the apartment, lightly rapped on Phoebe's door. "Hey. Want some breakfast?"

The door opened and Phoebe, already dressed, smiled at Ross. "Had some already, thanks. Hey, you look happy."

"It's a beautiful day, why not?" Ross moved back towards the kitchen, began rummaging about in the refrigerator.

Phoebe, meanwhile, walked over and stood behind Monica. She began lightly rubbing Monica's temples. "How are you?"

"Uh. Feeling better now." Either the aspirin or Phoebe was doing a great job of diminishing the headache. A minute later Ross handed her a cup of coffee, and Monica smiled her thanks at him. She sat up a little straighter to let Phoebe know that she was all right.

Phoebe moved into the kitchen to watch Ross fix himself some scrambled eggs. "So, really, what's got you being all Mr. Smiley today?"

Ross shrugged. "I just, just had a good talk with Carol last night. I think we got some things straightened out."

"Oh?" Monica perked up a little bit more at the news. "You working stuff out with her?"

"I, I think so." Ross cheerfully slid the eggs out of the pan and onto a plate. "We, we really talked, for the first time in like forever. It, it felt good."

"I'm glad," Phoebe said with a wide smile.

"Me too." Ross sat at the kitchen table. "So, what's the plan for today?"

"No plan here," Monica said. "I was going to wash the windows today if you want to help."

"Ugh, way to spoil my good mood," Ross said with a grin. He took a bite and looked up at Phoebe, who was just standing there smiling at him. "And you?"

"Oh, was thinking of going to play in the subway. Anything to be out of Monica's sight when she starts cleaning."

Ross chuckled. Monica smiled and took another sip of coffee.

The door opened again. "All right, who cooked eggs without making some for me?"

"I did, and I'll do it again." Ross gestured towards the kitchen. "You can make some for yourself."

Chandler rolled his eyes. "In the future, you are to check in with me before preparing any food. Is that clear?"

"Oh, it's clear, I just have no intention of ever following through."

"Man, your sister is much more pliable."

"She just likes cooking and cleaning. Try getting her to do anything else for you."

"I'll just have to try that some day." Chandler opened the refrigerator door, got out some eggs for himself.

Phoebe stepped towards the bathroom and stopped halfway there. She peered out the window. "What's that?"

"What's what?" Ross stood up, walked over next to Phoebe.

"That, there. Hanging on the telephone pole."

Ross took another step towards the window. "It looks like... underwear."

Monica felt a sudden rush of heat to her face. She quickly lifted her coffee mug in front of her face in an effort to hide it.

Fortunately Ross and Phoebe didn't seem to be looking at her at all. "Wow, how'd it get there?" Phoebe was asking.

"Probably some kids. Does that look like ladies' underwear to you?"

"Yes it does. Why would kids throw ladies' underwear onto a telephone pole?"

"The same reason they throw shoes, I guess." Ross looked back at the kitchen. "What do you think, Chandler?"

"I'm thinking that Cute Naked Guy had an intense but brief cross-dressing fetish."

Monica peeked at Chandler. He was nonchalantly frying eggs and wasn't even looking at Monica. Relief percolated through Monica and calmed her enough so that she felt her face beginning to resume its normal color.

"Well, at least someone was having fun last night." Ross stepped back into the kitchen and began to wash off his plate. "Monica, if I help you with the windows, would you help me go shopping later? I want to fix a nice dinner for Carol tonight."

"Sure." Her voice sounded quite normal, she was relieved to notice.

Chandler piped up from where he was sitting down with his eggs and some toast. "Just remember, Ross, you need to fix some food for yourself _and_ Carol."

Ross snorted. Monica looked at Chandler, and for a moment their eyes met. She smiled her thanks at him and he nodded almost imperceptibly with a return smile.

Monica stood up and went back to her bedroom. Time to change into some durable clothes for cleaning. Ross didn't know it yet, but the windows were just the start of it. She smiled, anticipating his chagrin but knowing that their respective good moods would sustain each other and make whatever chores they had ahead more bearable. Monica planned to take advantage of that for as long as possible, before something bad could happen to spoil the moment.

Her headache now completely gone, Monica prepared for a pleasant day.

* * *

(to be continued) 


	21. Monica and her Roommate's Leg

"It's a dog eat dog world, Sammy, and I'm wearing milkbone underwear." 

Monica laughed. Ross, sitting next to her on the couch, gestured at the television. "See? The old shows were funny. I think it jumped the shark when Diane left."

Monica tilted her head. "Jumped the shark?"

"It comes from Happy Days," Chandler said in a professorial tone. "The shows became really bad after the one where Fonzie jumped over a shark on water skis. So any time a show starts to suck, it is said to have 'jumped the shark'."

"Oh." Monica mentally filed that under 'useless trivia'. "Well, if you ask me, I liked Rebecca just fine when she was a cold-hearted business woman. I hated it when they made her start acting all ditzy."

"Either way," Ross continued, "its time has come and gone."

"No way!" Monica frowned. "Man, can't imagine it not being on the air."

"Gotta happen some time. Then they can replace it with my idea of a comedy based on prehistoric man."

Chandler shook his head. "Ross, my man, you will eventually have to come to grips with the idea of exactly how uncool you are."

Ross snorted. "Look who's talking, Mr. Sweater-Vest."

"They are comfortable and fashionable!" Chandler rubbed his chest. "Besides, they let me wear them at work. Trust me, anything's better than that stupid suit."

Ross grinned. "Y'know, you were the last guy at college that I'd thought would be wearing a tie every day for work."

"Just you wait! When my new script hits Spielberg's desk, I'll make millions!"

"Oh?" Monica raised her eyebrows. "What new script?"

"Uh... the one about the annoying robot woman who asked stupid questions." Chandler looked back at the television.

Monica grinned. She was trying to work out a rejoinder when the phone rang. Mildly relieved - she'd never have Chandler's knack for instant comebacks - she picked it up. "Hello?"

"Hey there."

"Hey." She looked over at the guys. "It's Fun Bobby."

Ross and Chandler shouted out greetings. Monica smiled at them as she spoke. "So, what's up?"

"My friend Timothy is having a party tonight. What say we head on over at eight, get an early start on the night?"

Monica frowned. "Another party? I'm sick of 'em, that's all we ever do. Why not stop by my place? I'm here watching television with the guys."

"Oh, talk about dullsville, Monica. C'mon, live it up a little!"

"I've been 'living it up' since the day we met," Monica said somewhat testily. "Look, take a night off, slow down a bit."

"I'll slow down the day I die," Bobby said firmly. "C'mon, loosen up!"

"I'm loose enough already." That earned some guffaws from Chandler and Ross. She glared at them, irritated mostly at herself for giving them such easy ammunition. "We've been partying non-stop for a couple of months now. I for one would just like to relax for a bit."

"Relax?" Bobby sounded horrified. "We got the whole rest of our lives for that. Have fun now, while you're young!"

"Bobby." Monica sighed. "I don't want to go to a party tonight, okay? You can come over here and join us, if you want, but that's it."

"That's it?" Bobby sounded puzzled. "What do you mean, that's it?"

Monica found the decision crystallizing even as she said it. "It means don't bother me until you're done partying. I like you, Bobby, but I'm tired. When you're ready to slow down a bit, give me a call."

"Oh man." Bobby sounded regretful. "We could have had such a fun time, Monica."

"We did. But I want more than just fun, Bobby."

"More than just Fun Bobby. I hear you. See you around, Monica."

"Goodbye," she said even as she heard the click. With an even bigger sigh she set the receiver back down. She stared at the television screen, seeing the images but not really processing any meaning from them.

"You okay, Mon?" Ross's voice, gentle and probing.

"Yeah." She shook herself. "Yeah, I am. I really was wearing myself out with Fun Bobby. He just couldn't figure out that it was just as enjoyable hanging out and doing nothing."

"Yeah." Chandler nodded. "No one can ever hear my witty rejoinders when the music's too loud."

Ross grinned at Chandler. "Hey, that was the best part of Fun Bobby's parties."

Chandler made a face at Ross. "No, it was even better watching people fall away in droves as soon as you started talking about dinosaurs."

Ross seemed on the verge of a retort, but he cut himself off and looked back at Monica. "So, really, you all right?"

"I am," she said firmly. "Guys want some popcorn?"

"Sure," Chandler said. "Lotsa butter."

"Butter? That's way too fattening."

"That's what makes it so good."

"I'll make two bowls, then. You can clog your arteries with one while I'll be living longer on the other."

"And people say you're no fun," Chandler said with a grin.

Monica couldn't help laughing. She went into the kitchen as Ross and Chandler continued their war of comic retorts and decided that she had absolutely made the right choice.

* * *

.  
Monica turned on her side, staring at the blinds covering the bedroom window. There was a downside to having no boyfriend, and that was sleeping alone. For years and years, all the way through high school, she'd slept by herself and thought nothing of it. Then she'd discovered that, beyond sex, it was enjoyable just sharing a bed with someone. She loved the intimacy of it, the dropping of barriers, the closeness of it all. Now that she didn't have that any more, she found herself longing for it intensely. 

She stared at the phone. It'd be so easy to call him, ask him over. It was only one in the morning; he usually stayed up a lot later than that on the weekend. But for a week Monica had resisted the temptation to call him; best to keep the break clean.

So easy to say. So difficult to do. Monica rolled deliberately away from the phone and instead found herself staring at her bedroom door. Through it and across the hall was Chandler. Maybe she should ask him to sleep with her. Monica smiled at herself; she could imagine the shock on his face if she asked. But she had no real interest in it. Chandler was a good friend and neighbor, but there was too much bad history between them for her to ever seriously consider him as a potential bedmate.

There was a loud thump from the other bedroom, and the sound of a woman crying out in pain. Monica shot to her feet and ran out into the living room. She knocked on the door. "Phoebe? Are you all right?"

She heard indistinct sounds of conversation, and then another cry of pain. Monica set her jaw and knocked more insistently, her hand on the doorknob. Then it spun from underneath her, and the door opened. A man, who looked to be a couple of years younger than Monica and was dressed only in his pants, looked at her with an expression of panic. "Uh, Phoebe's hurt."

Monica pushed him aside. Phoebe was lying on the bedroom floor, naked, clutching her leg and grimacing. Monica knelt, barked out a command. "Turn on the lights."

The man did so, and Monica examined Phoebe's leg. It didn't look too bad, except that it was just beginning to swell. Monica looked at Phoebe's face. "What's wrong?"

"It hurts." Phoebe was breathing heavily. "I mean, it really hurts."

"You're going to the hospital," Monica decided. She glared up at Phoebe's boyfriend. "Get out while I get her dressed."

The man nodded. He grabbed his clothes and left.

Monica helped Phoebe sit on the bed and gingerly helped her put on some sweatpants and a shirt. Phoebe wasn't up to putting on socks or shoes on her left leg. Monica walked over to the bedroom door and gestured towards Phoebe's boyfriend. "Help me."

With her arms around the shoulders of Monica and the man, Phoebe stood up on her right leg. She whimpered slightly but then said, "Okay, what now?"

Good question. The hospital was about a dozen blocks away, a bit too far to walk to with Phoebe in this condition. And the subways this late at night didn't seem like a good idea. She looked over at Phoebe's boyfriend, who said, "I've got a car."

"Good. Help me get her outside, then you go get it."

"Right." They began walking Phoebe towards the apartment door.

Phoebe managed to flash a smile at the man. "Thanks, Larry."

"No problem," he muttered.

Monica grabbed her purse and Phoebe's. They managed to get through the door and began carefully navigating the stairs. Monica couldn't restrain herself any longer. "What happened?"

Larry blushed, but Phoebe answered easily. "We were trying something we read in a book I just bought."

"A book?"

Larry reached into his back pocket, pulled out a crudely-bound small book. In simple bold letters it was titled, 'Kama Sutra For Dummies'.

Monica eyed it for a second, then looked at Phoebe. "Really."

"Yeah. Something went wrong with position seven, step six."

Larry opened the book and peered at something. "You know, it says 'left leg', but I think it may have meant 'lift leg'."

"Oh!" Phoebe nodded enthusiastically. "That makes a lot more sense!"

Monica thinned her lips but refrained from further comment. Clearly this book wasn't officially sanctioned by the 'Dummies' publishers, but saying that wouldn't help matters.

They got through the building's front door. Larry ran off to get his car. Monica stood with Phoebe, supporting her as much as she could.

After a few seconds, Phoebe said quietly, "I'm sorry for waking you up."

"I was awake anyway." Now that the door had been opened, Monica couldn't help also asking, "What did you think you were doing with that book, anyway?"

"Experimenting," Phoebe said brightly. "Positions one, two, four, and five were pretty boring. But position three was great fun, and position six..." She trailed off with a satisfied hum.

Monica eyed Phoebe again. This was a side to her roommate she'd only glimpsed at. Phoebe did seem utterly inhibited, but Monica had never suspected that it extended so far. "Do you really need to risk bodily injury, though?"

Phoebe grinned at her. "Half the pleasure comes from the risk. Don't you know that, Monica?"

"I..." Monica found herself feeling slightly defensive. "I have pleasure enough without having to use manuals."

"Uh huh." Phoebe sounded unconvinced. "Remember, I sleep in the room next door, and I have yet to hear anything that causes the walls to shake."

"I, I can have enjoy myself and not break anything."

"You can enjoy yourself a little bit, but until you see the stars flash before your eyes, you haven't really lived yet."

Monica found herself growing more and more uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "Well, I'm living just fine, I think," she said as way to finish the conversation.

Phoebe's face became more serious. "Oh, I'm judging you a little bit, aren't I? I'm sorry. I guess there's a, a spectrum of sex, and you're like at the far left and I'm at the far right. So, so maybe the real answer is that we both need to move a little towards the middle."

Monica smiled. "Maybe."

Phoebe nodded, look as a car drove up. "Or maybe I need to move outside the spectrum altogether! I need two men and a woman for position eight."

Monica rolled her eyes but didn't stop smiling. She suspected that this was an aspect of Phoebe that was never going to change, despite tonight's injury. But that was all right. It was hard to deny exactly how much Phoebe enjoyed herself.

Just maybe, Monica thought to herself, a little move towards the center was justified. Now all she needed was someone to move with.

Setting those speculations aside for now, Monica helped Phoebe into the car.

* * *

(to be continued) 

Author's Note: The story of Phoebe breaking her leg in this manner comes from "TOW Rachel Has a Baby"


	22. Monica and the Plants

Monica held the coffee mug in front of her face. The odor, normally pleasant, was making her slightly nauseous. Steeling herself, she took a sip, willing the caffeine to kick in. 

The door opened and Monica looked up. Chandler and Ross came in together, both dressed in sweats and both having obviously been doing some rigorous activity. From the basketball under Chandler's arm it wasn't hard to figure out what that had been.

They both greeted her and headed directly towards the refrigerator. Ross poured tall glasses of orange juice for both himself and Chandler, and they each greedily drank it down. Monica watched without comment, glad that they were being careful not to spill.

Finally Ross put his glass on the counter with a contented sigh. "I thought you had to work today, Mon."

"I did. I took the day off."

"Oh?" Chandler peered at her. "You look tired. Are you sick?"

"I don't get sick," Monica snapped irritably.

Chandler recoiled. "Eep. Guess I won't be getting you that autoclave for Christmas after all."

Monica eyed him and decided she didn't want to know what an autoclave was. "Just for that, you get to cook dinner tonight."

"Me?" Chandler blinked. "Okay, but toast a la orange is going to be the main course."

Ross chuckled. "We'll figure something out." He opened the refrigerator. "What do you think, Chandler? Some kind of casserole?"

"If by 'casserole' you mean 'Chinese take out', then yeah." Chandler was already picking up the takeout menu Monica kept by the phone. "When's Phoebe getting home?"

Monica had been wondering when they'd get to that. "She's resting in bed. Try not to disturb her."

"Oh?" Ross closed the refrigerator door. "Is she all right?"

Before Monica could answer, the bedroom door opened. Monica looked over and saw Phoebe leaning heavily on a pair of crutches. One leg was covered from foot to just below her knee in a plaster cast. Phoebe's face was very pale, nearly white, and she was in obvious pain.

Nevertheless, she smiled widely. "Hi guys."

"Phoebe!" Ross almost ran across the living room, stopping a couple of feet away. "What happened?"

"A typographical error. Excuse me." She moved slowly past him.

Monica thinned her lips. "Phoebe, what are you doing up? The doctor said you were to rest as much as possible for the next couple of days."

"I have to go to the bathroom." Phoebe managed to get around the couch with both Chandler and Ross hovering around her. She made it without incident.

Monica called out just as she was closing the door. "Need help in there?"

"No, I can manage."

"Are you sure? Call out if you need help."

"Yes yes." Phoebe shut the bathroom door.

Chandler's eyes were wide as he approached the kitchen table. "What did she mean by a typographical error?"

Monica took a sip of her coffee. "I think it was the publisher's fault more than anything."

"The, the what?" Ross sounded totally confused.

"But Phoebe still should have known better." Monica found herself growing more and more amused by this. "It's what you get for not checking the source material first."

"Okay," Chandler said with his forehead furled, "if I understand you correctly, Phoebe broke her leg researching her term paper?"

Monica smiled slightly. "You could say that."

Further conversation was interrupted by Phoebe opening the bathroom door again. She looked even paler now, and made it to the couch before collapsing into it. Ross and Chandler immediately set about trying to make her comfortable, making her lie flat and gently elevating her leg by placing lots of pillows underneath it.

Finally Phoebe shooed them away. Ross and Chandler just sat on the coffee table and continued staring at her. "So, really," Ross said, "tell us what happened?"

"Oh, it's nothing. I had a belt fracture."

Monica shook her head. "Buckle fracture."

"Buckle fracture," Phoebe repeated. "The doctor said he'd never seen a buckle fracture on an adult before. I have very bendy bones." She grinned.

"What that means," Monica interjected, "is that it will probably heal quickly and without complications. She only needs to wear a short cast for a month, more or less, and she'll be perfectly fine afterwards."

"Oh, that's good." Chandler looked quite relieved. "Will you be able to work?"

"I think so. It may take me a little longer to move around the table and stuff, but I can manage." A little color was returning to Phoebe's cheeks. "After a day or two of rest, first."

Chandler looked over at Ross. Ross shrugged helplessly and asked, "Pheebs, want us to turn the couch so you can see outside?"

"Sure!"

Monica bit her lip but said nothing as Ross and Chandler lifted up either end of the couch and turned it to face the window. Phoebe beamed her appreciation, and commented just as the couch was being put down, "Oh look. Cute Naked Guy is really starting to put on weight."

Chandler went to look after the couch was put down. "I hate to tell you this, Pheebs, but I think he's veering away from 'cute'."

"Maybe," Phoebe said a little sadly. Her eyes moved around the window. "You know what we need?"

"Do tell." Ross was sitting on the arm of the couch just over Phoebe's head, looking down at her with concern.

"Plants." Phoebe waved her hand back and forth. "Something to bring life to the window."

"Plants." Chandler nodded. "Plants it is. Wait right here."

"Well, okay. But if I'm not here I'm out waltzing."

Chandler paused just as he was walking past her. "Did you... just make a joke? I mean, a ha-ha everyone-laugh kind of joke?"

Phoebe smiled. "What can I say? The pain is making me light-headed."

"Wow, you did it again. If I start seeing auras around people you'll have to answer for it."

Phoebe giggled slightly. Chandler moved towards the door with Ross in tow. Ross stopped at Monica. "Is it all right if we buy Phoebe some plants?"

Plants that drop leaves and dirt onto the floor? Plants that require daily maintenance? Plants that can have bugs and germs and all sorts of filthy things? Monica almost couldn't get the words out. "Sure. Just don't go overboard."

"Gotcha." Ross followed Chandler out the door.

Monica finished up her coffee and washed the cup. She went over to the couch and saw that in the meantime Phoebe had fallen asleep. With a relieved sigh Monica brought a small blanket out of the linen closet and covered Phoebe with it. Then she gratefully headed for her own bed. A nap sounded just about perfect right now.

* * *

.

Monica stirred, opened her eyes. The clock said it was after five, and for the life of her she couldn't figure out if it was morning or afternoon. Then she heard the sound of people talking in the living room and decided on the latter.

She stood up and stretched. She hadn't meant to sleep this long but she felt good. The only problem now would be getting herself back into a normal sleep schedule. Monica decided to have an extra vigorous workout late at night and hope that it wore her out enough to sleep.

Monica walked over to the dresser and peered at the mirror. Her hair was a mess, and she gathered it all up and pinned it into a bun. Good enough for now. She'd go fix dinner and take a shower afterwards.

Wiping the sleep from her eyes, Monica walked over to her bedroom door, opened it, and gasped in horror.

The ledge in front of the bay window was covered in plants. She literally could not see any of its surface. Plants were also hanging from the ceiling just in front of the window; Ross was at this moment standing on a kitchen chair and hanging another one. He looked over at her, his expression one of surprise and guilt.

"What are you doing!" Monica stepped out, walked over to the plants, resisted an urge to shove Ross off the chair. "What is all this?"

"We decided to create a vegetable patch for you, Mon. The taters will just lovely. You'll probably need to put up a scarecrow to keep the crows from pecking the corn."

Monica whirled and glared at Chandler. He cringed and half-turned away, lifting his arms as if fending off an attack. "Ah! I need a scareMonica. Quick, Ross, hand me a picture of Kip!"

"Go ahead, make jokes." Monica turned back towards the window. "You had no right to do this."

Ross stepped off the chair. "You said we could get a plant."

Monica shook her head. "A plant, yes. Not the Amazon!"

"I like it."

Monica whirled again but bit back the angry retort she had been about to make. Phoebe was still on the couch, propped up in a half-sitting position with her leg still elevated on some pillows and covered in ice packs. Her face was relaxed and neutral, which instantly made Monica wary. It was the same expression she had used when looking at Kip, and Monica did not at all enjoy the implications of having it directed at her.

Still, she had enough righteous anger to see her through. "That's way too much! I can barely see out the window any more."

"I can see just fine, and I'm lying on my back."

"But the plants... that many will create a huge mess. Think of all the dirt and leaves."

"I'll trim them and clean up after them."

"And who is going to water them every day?"

"I will."

"Phoebe..." Monica shook her head. "It's too much, it's much too much. I can't have this kind of mess in my living room."

"It's not a mess, and I won't let it become a mess."

"Phoebe-"

"Do I live here?"

The question brought Monica up short. "What?"

"Do I live here?" Phoebe cocked her head slightly. "Or am I just a long-term guest?"

"You, uh, you live here, I mean, you pay rent and everything."

"Then I get some say in what gets put into the apartment, don't I?"

"It's..." Monica trailed off. She couldn't claim any kind of landlord status because the lease was actually in her grandmother's name. And if Phoebe were of a mind to, she could expose the situation to the building owners and cause all sorts of problems. Not that she thought Phoebe was capable of any such thing.

Still, Monica felt that it was her apartment. Hers. Not Nana's, not Phoebe's. She worked hard daily to keep it clean and well-maintained. It was the first place she'd ever lived alone in. It just belonged to her in a way she couldn't adequately describe.

And now a formerly homeless woman was trying to lay claim to the apartment. Monica found herself breathing heavily as she fought against the urge to yell at Phoebe. It's my apartment, do you hear me? Mine and mine alone.

Phoebe seemed to sense a little of what was going on in Monica's head. She responded in a low expressionless voice. "If you want me to leave, I will."

"God, Phoebe!" Monica grimaced. "I didn't say anything about you leaving."

"If it's a choice between the plants staying or me leaving, which would it be?"

"Why does it have to come to that?" Monica gestured vaguely behind her. "I said you could have a few plants, I just didn't want that many."

"Well, I do. The apartment felt sterile before, now it's living and breathing. I need that, Monica."

"Need it so much that you have to deliver ultimatums?"

"I didn't want to deliver one until you yelled that I had no right to do this. I kind of have the feeling that if I don't make an ultimatum, I'll end up with no rights at all."

"Oh, Phoebe." Monica rubbed her temples. "You're my roommate and, hopefully, my friend. Do we have to fight like this?"

"I, I don't want to." Suddenly Phoebe looked to be on the verge of tears. "I hate fighting with you, I hate it so much. But... but I lived with a man once, and I let him... do things to me. He, he wanted to... I found out after I moved in that, that he was a... a pimp, and... and he wanted me to... to become..." Phoebe sniffled. "Monica, you tell me I have no rights, and I think of that man, and suddenly you make me so afraid, so afraid that... that I'll be forced to run away. Again."

"Oh God." Monica took two steps forward, dropped to her knees, and encased Phoebe in a hug. "Please don't run away."

"Please don't make me run away." Phoebe sounded scared and lost.

"I, I won't." Monica found tears spilling out of her eyes. "You, you can keep the plants, I, I'm sorry I said you have no rights."

"I want to, to keep living here and be your friend and everything." Phoebe tightened her grip. "I love you, Monica."

"Oh." Monica closed her eyes. "I love you too, Phoebe."

They held each other for a timeless interval, and Monica felt something shift inside her. It was still her apartment, but now it was Phoebe's, too. Phoebe had laid claim to a permanent residency in Monica's life, and Monica could no longer deny that Phoebe did have a right to do certain things with the apartment.

That thought was at once uplifting and sad. Monica couldn't help wondering if there was anything at all she could say was solely hers.

"I love you Ross."

"I love you too, Chandler."

"Let's have lots of babies together."

"Okay, but only if I can mount my entire fossil collection in the bathroom."

"Oh, then forget it, I'd rather die alone."

Their antics caused Monica to laugh, and she felt Phoebe quivering in amusement, too. She released the hug, wiped her eyes dry, and looked over at the guys with a stern expression. "Ross, put the chair back and wipe the seat clean. Chandler, check for any dirt or leaves that have gotten loose. Oh, and you both get to water the plants until Phoebe's cast comes off."

"Yes, Mon." Chandler and Ross exchanged glances, and she could see a combination of amusement and relief in their expressions. Clearly they hadn't enjoyed the confrontation any more than she had, and were glad that it had been resolved.

Monica moved into the kitchen and began to gather dinner ingredients. As she did, she thought of Phoebe, of the emotional fragility that still lurked underneath the happiness and joy she usually exuded. Still, there was a strength to Phoebe, the courage to leave a warm and secure place in order to avoid giving up her independence. Monica wasn't sure she could ever make the same choices Phoebe'd been forced to make.

But she was also certain that she would never have allowed herself to be maneuvered into having to make those choices. Phoebe was very much an impulsive person, unable to think about consequences. Her broken leg was proof of that. Monica felt a kind of cool satisfaction in knowing that she would never do anything impulsive and unthinking, that she would think through every decision and come to a reasoned conclusion about the best course of action.

Feeling a little better, Monica began cooking.

* * *

(to be continued) 


	23. Monica and Thanksgiving 1991

Monica peeked into the oven. The pumpkin pie was almost the right color. Two more minutes, she decided. She closed the door and found her foot tapping impatiently. 

Chandler was watching a parade from the living room. He called out over his shoulder. "Try all you want, the marching band won't go any faster."

"Ha. That's so funny, Bing." Monica walked over to the bathroom, took a quick look in the mirror, blanched, and walked back out. She'd spent an hour on her makeup and still she could find a million flaws. Most of which were sure to become a topic of conversation.

Phoebe entered the living room. She was walking gingerly; the cast had come off last week and it still pained her to walk. Her doctor had reassured both her and Monica that the pain was normal and even necessary - it would help the healing processes to put weight on the still-recovering bone. Phoebe had put up with it rather well - Monica had found increasing respect for Phoebe's ability to bear the pain and still be cheerful.

Phoebe was wearing a soft blue dress that was as formal as Monica had ever seen on her. Monica eyed Phoebe warily. "Are you going to be all right getting over to your grandmother's by yourself?"

"For the hundredth billionth time, yes." Phoebe walked over to the love seat and carefully lowered herself into it. She looked Chandler up and down. "What are you going to be doing for Thanksgiving?"

"Ah!" Chandler made a cross with his fingers. "Don't say that evil word! I'll be watching television and eating out of the fridge and praying for Friday to come real, real soon."

Monica took the pie out of the oven and set it on the counter. "Don't eat any of the olives, I want to use them for a dish I want to try with the leftover turkey."

"Wasn't planning on it. Those cherries, however, are in very serious jeopardy."

"So are you if you get any pits on my floor."

"Floor, check. But it's okay if I spit them onto the ceiling?"

"Only if you want your face to join them later."

"So," Phoebe interjected, "why is Thanks- uh, today so evil?"

Monica groaned. "Oh God, he's going to tell the story."

Phoebe looked wide-eyed at her. "What story?"

"It was Thanksgiving, 1978." Chandler's voice had shifted into story-telling mode. "Dinner has been strange. Mom and Dad aren't talking, which was actually a pleasant change. I'm only eating because I have to, but I'm thinking, gosh, if I had a light saber, I could slice the turkey and cook it at the same time."

"Ew!" Phoebe wrinkled her nose.

"Wait, it gets much worse." Chandler leaned forward. "So there I am, thinking about why we don't have pumpkin pie year 'round, and the houseboy is going around trying to serve us more turkey, when-"

To Monica's great relief, the front door opened. Ross and Carol stepped in. Monica greeted them enthusiastically, at the same time watching closely for any signs of strain. None seemed evident, which put her a little at ease.

After greeting Chandler and Phoebe, Ross looked back at Monica. "So, ready to go?"

"Just a sec." Monica brought out her tin foil and covered the pumpkin pie, then wrapped it in towels.

Meanwhile, Carol had entered the living room and sat on the couch. "So, Phoebe, how's your leg?"

"It's getting better, thanks." Phoebe grinned. "Gosh, you're pretty."

"You, you think?" Carol touched her hair. "Does this look better up or down?"

"Oh, down, definitely, shows that you are free and loose and breezy."

That last thing Monica currently felt was breezy. "Okay, let's go." She handed Ross the wrapped-up pie and put on her coat. "You guys have a happy Thanksgiving, okay? Even you, Chandler."

"Argh!" Chandler clutched his chest as if mortally wounded. "Canadian. I should have been a Canadian."

Ross chuckled. "Canada has a Thanksgiving, too."

"Oh. British, I should have been born British. God save the Queen!"

"Well, have fun picking a nationality, then." Monica pulled on Ross's arm. "C'mon, let's go."

They made it out the door without incident. They took a subway to Grand Central and caught a train there. Monica was too wound up to talk, so she listened as Ross and Carol made idle talk.

All too soon the train was pulling into the station. With a sigh Monica stood up and followed the crowd outside. Ross and Carol had a brief debate about whether to walk or take a cab, which was decided by the noticeable lack of taxis at the stand. Fortunately they only had to walk a mile or so.

Monica looked around as they walked. She was intimately familiar with the area, and a slew of memories threatened to overwhelm her, not all of them pleasant. Her apartment in the city still felt unfamiliar in certain ways. The house they were now approaching was still set in her heart as home.

Ross rapped on the door, which was quickly opened by an older woman with faux-auburn hair and a smile that seemed slightly frozen. "Hello, Ross. Hello, Carol. It's so good to see both of you."

"Hi, Mom." Ross reached in to kiss her on the cheek. He handed her the bundle he'd been carrying. "Monica made pumpkin pie."

"Oh. How... original." Mother looked over at Monica. "Hello, dear. Don't you think it's time you bought a new coat?"

Monica's stomach twisted. This was going to be every bit as bad as she'd feared. "It's only a couple of years old, Mom. Can we come in?"

"Of course you can." Mother took the pie into the kitchen.

Everyone took off their coats as an older man, not quite fat but certainly plump, greeted them with a wide smile. "Ross, Monica, Carol, it's so good to see you all." He hugged them one by one, and Monica took a brief amount of comfort in his embrace.

"So, tell me you crazy kids," Father said to Ross and Carol, "when are you going to give me a grandchild?"

"Soon, I hope." Ross smiled at Carol. "Just waiting for the right moment, y'know?"

"Well, don't wait too long. I'm in good health now, but next year, who knows?"

Monica had been watching Carol's expression. She found no great enthusiasm in Carol's expression, but then, no one would be thrilled to be asked direct and embarrassing questions by her father. Monica decided that just this once she wasn't going to worry too much about how Ross and Carol were getting along. Just for today, Monica had problems enough of her own.

"Don't say things like that, Dad." Ross escorted Carol into the living room. "Have you thought of a diet? Monica could probably recommend one for you."

"Then when would I eat any of her delicious pies?" Father grinned at her. "It's worth the risk."

"Now, dear, you could get pies just like Monica's at the bakery." Mother had come back into the living room. "Dinner's in an hour if you want to freshen up."

Monica sat on the couch next to Carol as Ross endured another round of questions about children from Mother. This was fine by Monica as it kept the attention off of her. Monica fussed a bit with the doily draped over the arm of the couch, idly wondering if she should get some for her couch. She almost might if she wasn't worried that the guys would mistake them for napkins.

Unfortunately, Mother interrupted her reverie. "So, Monica, how's that... cooking thing going?"

Monica steeled herself. "It's going fine."

"So, you're a full-time chef?"

"Well, technically I'm on a part-time shift, but I work forty-five hours a week."

"You're not salaried?" Father raised his eyebrows. "Monica, you need to talk to that boss of yours and negotiate a firm salary like your brother has."

Monica suppressed a wince. Unlike her mother, Father meant well when he said those kind of things. He just proceeded from an assumption that Monica should live her life exactly like Ross did. "I'm working towards becoming a head chef, which would be a salaried position. But that will take a while. I just need to put in a couple more years at least. They don't let people fresh out of college become head chefs."

"I don't know that I'd qualify what you went to as a real college, dear." Mother turned towards Carol. "How's your practice going?"

"Uh, it's fine." Carol reached over, squeezed Monica's hand as she kept her eyes on Mother. "I'm not well-established yet, but I'm working on it. Right now I'm trying to get my name placed on a few referral lists. That's not easy to do, unfortunately, but I'm patiently persistent."

"Well, isn't that nice." Mother smiled. "It's nice to see a young woman who can succeed while still doing things in moderation."

Monica gripped Carol's hand tightly but didn't say anything.

Father asked a question about the museum, which Ross used as an opportunity to describe in excruciating detail the new exhibits that were being planned and his part in designing them. Monica wasn't certain whether Ross's loquaciousness was planned but she was grateful for it. Anything to keep attention off of her.

Sooner than Monica had dared hope, Mother announced that dinner was ready. Gratefully she sprang towards the table and quickly took her seat.

Father chuckled as he sat at the head of the table. "I remember when you used to sit here for half an hour before dinner actually began. You were so anxious to begin eating that-"

"I'm not that way any more," Monica interrupted. "So, you gonna carve the turkey or just admire it?"

"Monica, there's no reason to snap at your father." Mother, as always, spoke in a detached tone of voice, even when she was scolding.

Monica thinned her lips but had to admit to herself she was being a tad snappish. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"That's okay, honey." Father, also as always, was very easy-going and never seemed to get mad at anything. "So, white and dark meat, who wants what?"

Monica helped to pass around food, taking a thin slice of turkey with cranberry sauce and some salad for herself. Ross began asking questions about what the neighbors had been up to, and Father and Mother seemed only too happy to gossip. Monica ate slowly and took a second helping of salad, trying her best to blend in and not be noticed.

Dinner passed and Monica and Ross helped to clear the table. Carol tried to help but was gently reprimanded by Mother, who led her out into the living room to show her pictures of Monica and Ross as babies.

"So," Ross said as they began washing, "that wasn't so bad, was it?"

It was horrible, Ross, but you just don't see it. "It was fine."

"At least you don't have it as bad as Carol. Mom is dropping baby hints with every other sentence."

Monica rolled her eyes. "Wow, how awful for her."

"Hey, it's bad enough when-" Ross cut himself short.

Monica looked up at him. "When what?"

"Never mind." Ross busied himself scrubbing a pot.

Monica sighed silently. Probably marriage problems again. Couldn't they just be happy? Monica shook her head.

After the dishes were washed, dried, and put away, Monica took out her pie and prepared slices for everyone. Ross took coffee orders from the living room and soon they were all sitting around the room.

Mother took a bite from the pie and made a small face. "Seems a little sweet, don't you think?"

Monica clenched her jaw and forced herself to relax. "So is Aunt Iris coming?"

"She's over at Lillian's for dinner, but they'll join us later for drinks." Mother set her pie on the coffee table, having only taken two bites of it. "Ross, you and Carol will stay, won't you?"

"Sure," Ross said easily to Monica's deep dismay.

"Lillian makes a most excellent upside-down cake," Mother continued. "Perhaps you could get her recipe, Monica, for next year. She learned it from her husband's family, but I suppose you won't be learning any recipes that way, will you?"

"Yeah, perhaps I could. Excuse me." Monica put her own plate of half-eaten pie on the coffee table and all but fled the living room. She quickly walked up the stairs to her bedroom, flicked on the lights, and collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Why, why did she come here every year? Why did she put up with this, why did she torture herself? If she just disappeared off the face of the earth right now she was certain her parents wouldn't mind at all.

She heard footsteps in the hallway. They stopped at her door, then stepped inside the room. Monica cursed herself for not closing the door and forced herself to sit up. To her surprise, Carol stood there, eyeing the room. "My goodness, you did like to work out."

Monica looked around, seeing it with Carol's eyes. A treadmill in one corner, a nautilus home gym in another. Not much room to move around in. "My mother wouldn't let me put them anyplace else, and Nana wouldn't let me bring them into her apartment."

"But it's your apartment now, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah, but I've gotten used to running and free weights." Monica stood up, walked over to the home gym. "I suppose I should sell them or something."

"But you don't because they're important to you somehow?"

Monica turned around, looked into Carol's sympathetic eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess they are." She sat on the gym's seat. "They, they kind of... mark my rite of passage."

"Rite of passage from where?"

"From my old life to my new life. Surely Ross told you what I was like as a kid?"

"I've... he's made comments. I wasn't certain how much to believe."

"It's become a running joke in the family. And the longer I've... remained as I am now, the more exaggerated the tales get." Monica leaned back, put her arms into position where she could begin doing some chest pumps. "To hear Ross tell it, if he didn't eat quickly I'd consume everything on the table, including what was on his plate."

"Ah, yes, I've heard that as well." Carol sat on the chair by the desk. "Do the tales bother you?"

Monica shrugged. "No. It's so much noise by now. All that matters to me is that I... I did what needed to be done and I like myself better now than I did before."

Carol tilted her head slightly. "Do you?"

Monica pushed out, feeling the weight. Probably about eighty pounds. "Do I what?"

"Feel better about yourself."

Slowly, Monica released the weights. "Of course I do. I mean, who'd want to be a seventeen-year-old girl that weighed two-hundred fifty pounds? Anything was better than being that person."

"I'm not certain that's true. I've met many people who weigh as much or more and are quite content. Clearly, though, you didn't want to be that girl."

"No," Monica said with feeling. She pushed out the weights once more. "She was alone and unhappy and so miserable."

"And is the woman who is lifting weights right now any happier?"

Monica made a face and lowered the weights again. "I'd have to be, wouldn't I?"

"I don't know, Monica. I'm not you. But I do know that you're avoiding answering the question."

Argh. The woman was far too insightful. "I, I have friends, Chandler and Phoebe and, and Ross hangs around all the time, they, they make me feel good."

"Did the seventeen-year-old Monica have no friends?"

"I, I had a good friend. A great friend. My friend, she was very supportive of my... transition. She was so excited for me. She let out a little scream every time she saw me after I'd lost a few more pounds. It, it was exciting to meet her."

"Your friend was supportive. Was no one else?"

"Well, Ross of course. You should have seen his eyes bug out the first time he saw me after I started my exercise program. He was even a little worried for me, and I had to tell him that I was seeing a doctor and that I wasn't losing weight too quickly. He was so encouraging after that."

"So your friend was supportive and Ross was 'of course' supportive. Yet it seems to me that there are other people who should have been 'of course' supportive as well."

Monica sighed, pushed out again. "Dad... Dad liked to show me off to people, especially towards the end. He kept measuring my waist and announcing it to everyone he saw. It was kind of embarrassing. But, but kind of fun, too. I, I didn't struggle too much every time he wanted to measure me again."

"Ah." Carol nodded. "It's good to have parents that encourage you, isn't it?"

"Y-yeah." Her arms were beginning to tremble ever so slightly. "That would be good."

"Would be? Not 'was'?"

"I..." Monica slowly relaxed her arms, let the weights fall. "I had one supportive parent. And one parent who... who complained about all the new clothes I bought, complained about having to buy new groceries, complained about the noises that were made while I was working out, complained about having to take a whole new set of family pictures because I had inconveniently changed the way I looked, complained-" Monica bit her lip before everything came spewing out. "Basically, she complained. Basically, I could never do anything right at all, ever. My whole life she's done nothing but complain. About me."

"I see." Carol studied Monica. "And, and you were disappointed that... that your weight loss didn't change that?"

"I mean, if she couldn't compliment me on that, what could I ever do that was any good at all!" Monica snapped her mouth shut, forced herself to talk in a calmer tone of voice. "I'm fairly certain I could end world hunger and bring about peace on earth and it would never be good enough for her."

Carol leaned forward, put her elbows on her knees, rested her chin on her hands. "Monica, let me say just this one thing. You may very well be right about your mother. She may look upon you as a younger version of herself and will never be satisfied unless you live your life exactly the same way she lives hers. But that's not important. It doesn't matter what she thinks, or what your father or Ross thinks, or what I think, or what any of your friends think. The one and only thing that matters is what you think. Do you like what's changed in you since you were seventeen?"

Monica looked down, felt her stomach, flat and hard. It gave her a thrill, as it hadn't in months. She remembered Fun Bobby's enthusiastic appreciation the first time he saw her naked, and similarly Kip's low whistle, and even Chandler's joke about her being the strongest women he'd met outside of a circus. She loved things like that every time they happened. Perhaps women like Rachel were well used to them and maybe even tired of the constant compliments. But Monica reveled in it, even now.

"Yes," she said out loud. "Yes, I like myself better now. But-"

Carol sat up and held out her hand in a 'stop' gesture. "No, no, there is no 'but'. You like yourself better. I want you to hold on to that feeling. Think about how much better you feel about yourself and let that sustain you for now. Once you've finally accepted that, then the feelings of anyone else won't matter at all."

Monica smiled slightly. "Fair enough, Dr. Freud."

Carol laughed gently. "That quack? Trust me, the very last thing I suffer from is any kind of male envy."

Monica laughed in return. "I hear you." She stood up, stretched out her arms. "Well, once more into the breach. And I bet you Mom makes some comment about monopolizing you."

"No bet. But let me fix your hair." She reached over, gently brushed back Monica's bangs. "I just want to add that I like you the way you are, too. I happen to think you're beautiful."

Monica couldn't help blushing slightly. "Thanks. And I always thought Ross was luckier than he deserved in finding a woman as pretty as you."

"Ross." Carol lowered her hand to Monica's shoulder, let it rest there a moment, then withdrew it entirely. "I'll lay you three to one odds he makes another comment about getting me pregnant before the end of the night."

"No bet." Chuckling, Monica stepped past Carol and out of her room. A moment later Carol followed her.

She entered the living room to see Ross and Father in deep discussion about whether the Giants could repeat as Super Bowl champions. Mother looked pained by the entire conversation and her eyes latched on to Monica.

Bracing herself, Monica sat down and waited. To her great surprise, Mother simply asked, "Are you all right, Monica?"

"Uh, yeah. I was just talking with Carol."

"That's good. You should spend more time with your sister-in-law. She could set a good example for you."

Monica relaxed. Now she was in familiar territory. And, curiously, she wasn't as stressed about it as she had been. At the same time, she didn't want to expose herself to this any longer than she had to. "Ross, what time were you thinking of leaving?"

Ross interrupted a treatise on Phil Simms to turn towards her with surprise. "Gosh, not for a while yet. Aunt Lillian and Aunt Iris are coming over."

"And Dr. Burke and his wife are coming over," Father added. "You haven't seen him in a long time, have you?"

Ugh, even more old people talking about things that would bore her to tears. "I have to work tomorrow. I think I'll head on home now."

"Well, let me drive you to the train station." Father stood up, absently patted his pockets.

"No, no. Stay here, I can walk." She walked over, hugged him. "Nice to see you again, Dad."

"Hey, always glad to see you, my little Harmonica."

She grinned, then turned towards Mother, who hadn't risen to her feet. Monica bent down, kissed her lightly on one cheek. "Thank you for dinner, Mom."

"You're welcome. Be careful getting home, your brother won't be there to protect you."

"I know." Monica straightened, turned. "Bye, Carol. Bye, Ross. See you guys later."

Carol smiled as Ross waved to her. As Monica walked out into the foyer to put on her coat, she heard Ross say, "So Carol, Mom was telling me that she still has some of our old baby toys and was wondering if we'd like them."

Monica smiled and left the house.

It was quite dark outside when Monica got to the train station. A wait of only a few minutes was needed before a train arrived. Monica got on board, paid the attendant, and found a relatively isolated seat. She sat against the window, stared outside at the darkness, and brooded.

Carol's words had been nice, and well-meaning, and helpful. But there really was a 'but'. It really did matter what people thought of her. It really did matter if her mother would ever give the faintest glimmer of approval. Monica had changed just about everything about herself and still couldn't find anything inside that Mother found loveable. And there was a fear, still lurking in Monica's brain despite all the diets and workouts in the world, that she was fundamentally unattractive and unlovable.

Monica spent the train ride and the subsequent subway ride wondering if she'd ever find anyone who'd be able to convince her otherwise.

As she approached her apartment door, she could see that the lights were on inside. She tested the door and it was unlocked. Stepping inside, she saw Chandler on the couch, drinking a beer and watching some old black and white movie. Miracle on 34th Street it looked like.

He looked over as she entered. "Hey."

"Hey." Monica took off her coat. "Phoebe back?"

"Nah. Not unless she's disguising herself as that pigeon on the terrace." Chandler picked up the remote and muted the television. "Truth be told, I'm surprised you're back this early."

"Hey, I went, I ate, I gabbed, I came back." Monica sat on the opposite end of the couch from Chandler. "That's what Thanksgiving's all about."

Monica waited. Go ahead, Chandler, I fed you the perfect setup line. Tell me all about how Thanksgiving is supposed to be about making little boys throw up in shock. Or something even wittier. There's a thousand things that'll just make your day.

It took her a few seconds to realize that not only hadn't he made a joke, he wasn't going to make one. She looked over at him out of curiosity. He was sipping his beer and looking at her. "That bad, huh?"

Monica shrugged. "Bad enough."

"Was it something Ross did? Because I can hire someone to rough him up for you."

"No, no, Ross was fine." Monica looked back at the television. "Someday I'll tell you what my parents are like. Just because they still have a stable marriage doesn't mean my holidays are any better than yours were."

"Ah." Chandler stood up. "Well, guess I'll go home and thank God that this day is over."

Monica chuckled. "Send him my thanks as well." She picked up the remote, unmuted the television.

She heard Chandler open the front door, but then he called out to her, "Hey, Mon?"

She looked over her shoulder. "Yeah?"

Chandler looked over both shoulders before speaking again. "Listen, don't ever tell anyone I ever said these words out loud, but... Happy Thanksgiving." He raised his beer in her direction.

Monica smiled, deeply amused and genuinely touched by his gesture. "Thank you."

Chandler nodded and left the apartment, closing the door behind him.

Monica turned back towards the television, feeling better than she had all day. She watched and found hope in the thought that the woman in the movie would have a lousy Thanksgiving but that all would be well by Christmas Day.

* * *

(to be continued) 


	24. Monica and the Tree

Monica opened the apartment door, tossed a bag onto the floor, then turned around and put both hands on the ungainly object in the hallway. She tried to be as careful as she could, but it just wouldn't fit into the hallway easily. She ended up giving it a good yank to force it through, which caused a small shower of green needles to fall onto the floor. 

Growling, Monica carried the tree into the living room. She put it down on the floor in front of the window and went back to close the front door. She picked up the bag and set it on the kitchen table, pulling out of it a box. Monica turned the box over in her hands and carefully read the instructions on the back.

This should be easy.

Monica opened the box and pulled out a series of metallic objects. One was vaguely bowl-shaped, three looked like miniature playground slides, and three strange-looking screws. Monica frowned at them, frowned at the back of the box, and frowned at the pieces of metal again. Experimentally she tried fitting one of the slide-looking thingies into the bowl thingy. It fit.

She began preliminary assembly. Satisfied that she had it all in hand, she put the half-completed sculpture on the floor. Monica lifted up the tree and tried to place it in the middle of the bowl. The sculpture immediately fell apart into its component pieces.

Growling, Monica leaned the tree against the window as best she could. She got down on her hands and knees and put the metal puzzle back together. Still on the floor, she tried to lift up the tree by the bottom of its trunk and slide the bowl underneath it. The tree immediately began falling to one side, and Monica shrieked.

"Hey hey hey." The tree stopped its descent and righted itself. Chandler's voice came from the other side of the branches above her. "What are you trying to do, Mon?"

"Just hold it like that. Lift it up a little. There, hold it right there. Don't move it!" With the tree upright and steady, Monica was able to maneuver the metal bits underneath it. She positioned the legs and tightened the screws, and amazingly the whole thing seems to achieve a fragile stability. "Okay, let go."

The tree settled slightly but remained upright. Sighing in relief, Monica began to scoot out from underneath it.

"Wait, don't move." She heard Chandler move about in the kitchen for a few seconds, then a pitcher of water appeared underneath the tree. "There."

Monica felt the frown returning. "There what?"

"Fill the bowl with water."

"Why?"

"To keep the tree from drying out."

"You mean... it drinks the water? It's still alive?"

"Well, I don't know if it technically counts as alive. I'd recommend that you avoid the subject when you talk with Phoebe, though."

Monica carefully poured the water into the bowl, then finally extricated herself from the tree. She stood back and eyed it critically. It seemed to be tilting ever so slightly. For once, though, she decided that this was good enough. Monica carried the pitcher back into the kitchen and set it in the sink. Then she removed another box from the bag on the kitchen table, turned it over, and frowned intently at the instructions on the back.

After she'd been doing this for a minute, Chandler interjected, "It's just Christmas tree lights. They're not exactly difficult to put up."

"The tree wasn't supposed to be hard, either, and look how that turned out. And see, I have to carefully loop these wires around the branches."

"Which is about as difficult as putting on a party hat." Chandler took another box out of the bag, this one filled with baseball-sized colored hollow balls. "So, your first Christmas tree, huh?"

"Yeah. I don't know how you gentiles put up with it. Everything's so messy and cumbersome." Monica glanced over at the needles still littering the floor by the front door, and decided they took precedence. She stood up and got out her broom and dustpan.

"Well, we generally convince our kids that decorating a tree is great fun and con them into doing it." Chandler opened the box of ornaments and began assembling them to Monica's silent relief. "And generally we leave the trees up as long as possible to avoid having to pack everything up again. The preferred method for taking them down is to burn the lights so long that the tree catches on fire and burns the living room to ashes. Then we build a new one."

"Oh, a barrel of laughs you are." Monica dumped the needles into the garbage, then put the broom and dustpan away. "So, any awful Christmas stories you can tell?"

"Nah. Christmas was always okay." Chandler's voice was unusually sober. "My parents actually pretended to like each other. You know, until the divorce. Then Dad moved to Las Vegas and it was just me and Mom, and she usually found time to stay at home during the holidays. So for like one day I could pretend I was part of a normal family."

Monica reached out and squeezed Chandler's shoulder reassuringly. Then she picked up the string of Christmas lights and carried them over to the tree. She examined the tree closely, mapping in her head where she thought the lights should go. She hoped she had enough.

Just as she was starting to string the lights through the tree, the front door opened. "Ooh! A tree, a whole tree!"

"A Christmas tree." Chandler lifted up one of the ornaments.

"Oh." Phoebe didn't seem enthusiastic about it.

Monica looked over her shoulder, praying that Phoebe wouldn't begin complaining about killing a tree. Just this once, please, don't get worked up over this kind of stuff, Phoebe.

"C'mon, Pheebs." Chandler now had an ornament in each hand, and he shook them festively. "It's fun, and at the end, there's presents!"

"Presents. I like presents." Phoebe's enthusiasm grew, and then as quickly died. "Mom gave me a present one year. She killed herself."

"Oh." Chandler lowered the ornaments. "Your mom killed herself on Christmas?"

"Around Christmas, yeah. Then I ran away and it was so cold." Phoebe's eyes grew distant.

Monica could not help feeling irritated. She'd embarked on this whole Christmas project to try and help Phoebe and Chandler feel better this time of year, and now Phoebe was threatening to wreck that plan. With great effort, Monica kept her voice friendly, even if it still had an edge. "Well, you're not cold now, are you? You're here where it's warm, and there are trees and presents and no one is going to kill themselves. Now, grab those balls and help Chandler put them on the tree."

Phoebe looked blankly at Monica, a bad sign. Chandler saw it also, and held out the ornaments. "Betcha you can't put these on the tree faster than I can?"

Phoebe shifted her gaze to Chandler. "Is this a race?"

"Yes!" Chandler put the ornaments in Phoebe's hands, grabbed two more off the table, and ran in an exaggerated fashion over to the tree.

A smile grew on Phoebe's face. She giggled and ran, and suddenly the tree was in a very crowded area. Monica felt herself being jostled on either side and had to bite her tongue to keep from yelling. Chandler had done a wonderful job of distracting Phoebe and getting her to have fun. Monica knew she shouldn't sabotage her efforts, despite the fact that the ornaments weren't being placed in what she considered to be optimal positions on the tree.

Monica continued placing the lights as the race slowed slightly between Chandler and Phoebe, probably helped by the fact that there really weren't that many ornaments. At one point, Chandler looked out the window and said, "Hmm. Curiously enough, Ugly Naked Guy's tree has far more decorations than ours does."

"So keeping himself naked is fine, but his tree has to be covered up?" Phoebe peered through the window, then frowned and turned towards Chandler. "Ugly Naked Guy?"

Chandler nodded sadly. "I'm sorry, Pheebs, but I just can't stand using 'cute' anymore when describing him."

"But, but 'ugly' is such a negative word."

"What, and trying to spoil Monica's first Christmas with stories about your mother isn't negative?"

Phoebe looked at Monica. "Your first Christmas?"

"I, I've never had a tree before." Monica looped the end of the string of lights around a branch, then stood back to judge the effect. "And don't think I didn't have holiday celebrations, Dad always gave us lots of Hanukah presents. I'm just doing this for you guys."

"Aw." Phoebe hugged Monica. "You're so sweet."

Monica smiled and returned the hug briefly. "Thanks."

"Ooh, shopping!" Phoebe stepped back and ran back towards the door. "I need to get presents! Oh, and I think Grandma has some Christmas decorations I could borrow. I think she might even have my mother's skull!"

Monica could only stare as Phoebe quickly left.

Chandler sounded equally flabbergasted. "Did she say her mother's skull?"

"Oh God, I hope she didn't mean that literally."

"It's so hard to tell with her. But, but I'm pretty sure she didn't." Chandler suddenly grinned. "That's what I like so much about Phoebe. She is so unpredictable."

"Uhn." Monica turned away from the door. "That's not always a good thing. Kinda tough to live with day after day."

"Phoebe, you mean?"

"Oh, I don't know what I mean. I just, sometimes I wish things were more normal."

"You mean, normal like what you had at home?"

"Okay, point taken. Normal is tough to live with, too." Monica bent down, grabbed the plug for the lights. "I guess I'd like to live with someone who could be both unpredictable and normal. Y'know, did things that surprised me but also knew when to tone it down."

"Someone like you?"

"Oh, I'm completely predictable."

"You are so not. Don't forget, I know whose underwear that is."

Monica blushed but mentally conceded that point as well. She plugged in the Christmas lights, then straightened up and took two steps back.

The Christmas tree actually looked a little sad. Off-center, with far too few ornaments, and the lights only illuminated about half the branches. Still, for some reason it made Monica feel warm inside. Never mind that it wasn't her holiday or her customs; creating something like this to share with Chandler and Phoebe made her feel good.

The door opened again and Ross called out, "Hey everyone."

"Hey, man," Chandler answered. "Look at what Monica did."

Ross walked up and stood next to Monica. Monica kept her eyes on the tree but awaited Ross's reaction. There were a thousand things he could criticize, from the lackluster appearance to the theological implications.

After a moment, he nodded. "Looks great, Mon."

Monica let out a breath. "Thanks."

"We're still going to do the menorah, aren't we?"

"Of course."

"Cool." To Monica's relief, Ross left it at that. "So, Chandler, what do you want for Christmas?"

"Kim Basinger."

"That would not involve kidnapping?"

"Oh. Wing Commander II: Vengeance of the Kilrathi, then."

"Do you even have a computer?"

"I do at work. You don't think I stay late at the office to do actual work, do you?"

"Silly me."

"Candy canes."

Ross and Chandler looked at her. Ross was the one to ask, "What?"

"The tree needs candy canes. I'll make some."

"You know how to make candy canes?"

"Can't be that hard." Monica walked over to the kitchen, selected a recipe book. "You two, clean up any pine needles that have fallen."

Chandler chuckled. "I'm going to guess this will be the neatest Christmas in history. Wonder how she'll respond to wrapping paper being flung about on Christmas Day?"

"Dude, I'll venture a guess that you don't want to find out."

Monica chuckled to herself and searched the table of contents. One Christmas, made to order, coming up.

* * *

(to be continued) 


	25. Monica and her Tea Leaves

Monica entered the apartment to the sound of laughter. She looked over to see Phoebe, Ross, and Chandler bent over some kind of board game. Ross had a card in his hand that he'd evidently been reading from. He and Phoebe were chuckling, and Chandler had his "I've just been extraordinarily funny" expression on. 

They all called out a greeting as Monica moved towards the kitchen. She opened her bag and pulled out a largish bottle. "This is absolutely the last bottle of semi-decent champagne they had at the liquor store, so we're saving it for midnight."

"Well, we have a couple of hours, then." Phoebe gestured. "I made some tea if you'd like."

Monica saw that there was, indeed, a teapot on the stove. Which was odd, she'd never seen Phoebe drink tea before. Monica poured herself a cup and walked over to the living room. "Watcha playing?"

"Trivial Pursuit." Chandler picked up a piece. "Wanna play? We just started."

"No, I'll watch you guys." She took a sip of the tea, which was quite strong but very good. She sat on the couch between Ross and Chandler.

They played the game for over an hour, which mostly consisted of trying to come up with the most off-the-wall answers to the questions. Chandler was of course the best at this, but Phoebe held up surprisingly well. Ross's witticisms were a distant third, and Monica tried to help him out as best she could, although she wasn't exactly a comic genius either.

When the game ended with Ross the putative winner, Monica glanced up at the clock. "An hour to go. Wanna watch Dick Clark?"

"Of course!" Ross grabbed the remote and turned on the television. Chandler groaned audibly.

"Nineteen ninety-two." Monica shook her head. "This last year seemed to go by so fast."

"How'd you do on your resolutions?" Chandler asked.

Monica shrugged. "Not sure I really made any. How about you, get much writing done?"

"No, haven't had much time. Been working a lot."

Monica considered him for a moment. Chandler had been putting in a lot of overtime lately. It wasn't hard for her to guess why. "So, are you ever going to get a new roommate?"

"Naw. I like privacy."

Monica narrowed her eyes. "Which is why you're over here practically every night?"

"Only because you feed me."

"Uh huh. Tell me the real reason why you don't get a new roommate."

"Hey, look, it's Dick Clark again. Or at least, the robotic facsimile they made of him years ago."

"Answer my question, Chandler."

By this point everyone was looking at Chandler. He looked around, then grimaced. "Okay. The whole Kip thing was a disaster. And I don't just mean you, Mon. Even before your breakup, I dreaded coming home and finding him there. I'd rather work fifty-five hours a week then put up with that."

"Not all roommates are bad," Ross interjected. "I mean, you and I, we got along fine. And Monica and Phoebe are going great. You just got unlucky one time, that's all."

Monica nodded. "Plus, remember what you told me once about killing myself just to make ends meet. The same thing applies to you. I think you should get a new roommate. Just be more selective. You more-or-less picked Kip out of a hat. Be a little more formal, interview people like I did."

"Well..." Chandler looked uncomfortable. "I mean, I like how things are going. How can I make absolutely certain that whoever I pick won't mess things up?"

"Ooh! I know!" Phoebe jumped from the table and ran into her bedroom. She quickly emerged with a small book. "Give me your tea cup."

Chandler raised his eyebrows and handed over his cup. Phoebe peered into it, then opened the book and began leafing through it.

Ross frowned slightly. "You're, you're reading his tea leaves?"

"Uh huh," Phoebe said absently. "Linda from work taught me. She lent me this book."

"And, and it predicts the future?" Ross sounded slightly incredulous.

"Of course." Phoebe's finger moved down the page, stopped. She peered into the cup, then back at the page. "Okay... a cat, which indicates deviousness or companionship... and... a half-moon, which indicates fertility, above a triangle, which indicates land... so that means..." Phoebe looked up and beamed. "Your apartment is going to be turned into a farm."

"Oh? I'm going to grow crops in the living room? Thank goodness I've got that scarecrow set up, then."

Phoebe frowned and peered into the cup again. "Well, something about farms, anyway. And animals. Maybe your new roommate will be a farmer."

"Farmer, check. I'll just post a roommate wanted ad at the local Amish bar."

"Great! And Monica..." She lifted up another cup. "Let's see what your future holds."

Monica furrowed her brow. "Um, Phoebe..."

"Two intersecting circles. That means family. And the little arrow, that's a male symbol, so it must mean your father or brother. And... from the arrow... a line, which means that the arrow is the source of... hmm, three really tiny x's, which means, people... three people... ah!" Phoebe looked up triumphantly. "Ross is going to turn into three dwarves."

Ross looked very surprised. Chandler was laughing into his hand. Monica couldn't help smiling also. "Phoebe, I'm still holding my cup. Those are your tea leaves."

"Oh." Phoebe blushed slightly and closed the book. "Maybe we're better off not knowing the future."

"So, Phoebe," Ross said with a touch of amusement. "Why all this interest in the future?"

"Oh, oh nothing," Phoebe said quickly. "I just, you know, a new year and everything, they always say happy but they say that every year, and every year can't be a happy year, so it's best to, you know, try and make sure as much as you can. I mean, I wouldn't want to say Happy New Year if you were going to be dead by the end, I'd say, Starts Out Well But Ends Very Badly New Year instead."

The smile left Monica's lips. Phoebe was babbling a bit, which was somewhat unlike her. "Is something wrong?"

"What?" Phoebe blinked at her. "What's wrong? It's nothing, really."

"Phoebe." Ross leaned forward slightly, his gaze intense. "Are you afraid of the future?"

"Afraid?" Phoebe looked back at him with wide eyes. "Why, why would I be afraid?"

Ross studied her for a moment. "That's what I'd like to know. Haven't things gone well for you this past year?"

"Well? Yes, I guess, a little bit, I mean, I love Monica and you guys and we're all having such a wonderful time." Phoebe sounded far from happy, her voice wavering slightly. "I mean, what could go wrong? Besides everyone killing themselves, of course."

Monica frowned in puzzlement. Ross, however, nodded as if expecting that answer. "Or going to jail?"

"Yeah." Phoebe looked down. "Again."

Ross glanced at Monica and Chandler before once more focusing on Phoebe. "Are, are you afraid that, that things are going too well, that... that every time everything has seemed to be going well for you in the past, something bad happened like your stepfather getting arrested or your mother committing suicide?"

Phoebe's jaw began trembling. "The first guy I met in New York City, down at Port Authority, he was nice to me for a while and then he killed himself. And then I met Jimmy, but he was picked up for mugging and I never saw him again. George got taken to Bellevue. Henrietta decided to try and hitch to Florida, the last I saw of her was seeing her walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. And then I woke up one day and Hank was dead beside me, I never found out why. And-"

"And." Ross smoothly interrupted. "And you've known us for over a year, and you're afraid that one of us is going to die or move away?"

Phoebe was biting her lip in an apparent attempt to stop crying. "Good things don't happen to me."

"God, Phoebe." Monica put her tea cup firmly on the table. "We've done all sorts of good things with you, and you've been a good friend to all of us, too. Don't you dare think that we're going to abandon you. Like it or not, afraid of it or not, we're here to stay. So don't you start thinking for one moment that things are going to go bad."

"Oh?" Phoebe looked steadily at Monica. "Can you really, really say that no one will die? No one will move away? That nothing bad at all will happen?"

That brought Monica short. She didn't know how to answer that question.

Ross, however, seemed to have a notion. "Phoebe, you can live forever in fear about bad things that might happen. You're right, we can't give you any assurances. But I can tell you this. We'll help each other out. No matter what happens, good or bad, you can count on us to support you as much as possible."

Chandler nodded. "We all like you, Pheebs. We'll do everything we can to help prevent bad things from happening to you, and we'll help you survive if they do."

Phoebe didn't visibly react, just stared down at the table, still biting her lip. "Aren't you ever afraid of the future, Ross?"

"Of course I am," Ross said easily, a little to Monica's surprise. "I want to have children but wonder if that will ever happen. I wonder if I'm losing my wife."

Monica reached out, held on to his shoulder. Ross didn't acknowledge her touch, still focused on Phoebe. "But I don't let the fear paralyze me. I spend time here, with you guys, and everything seems all right."

Phoebe raised her head. "It is all right. Everything now is all right. But-"

"No, no 'but', Phoebe. Everything's been all right for you this past year. I mean, you had some rough spots, but you got over them, didn't you?"

"I, I guess."

"Then you will this year, too. I promise that."

Phoebe studied Ross for a few moments. Then she smiled slightly. "All right. Thank you." She looked around. "All of you."

Monica smiled back, then stood up and began collecting empty tea cups.

Chandler was looking up at her. "So, I'm afraid of getting another wretched roommate, Phoebe's afraid we're all going to die horribly, and Ross is afraid that he'll never see a Ross Junior. What is it about the future that scares you, Monica?"

By happenstance, Monica's teacup was on the top of the small stack she had created. She looked down at the tea leaves, wondering what Phoebe's book said about them. She shrugged. "Nothing. I mean, this last year was weird enough, with the whole Kip thing and Phoebe's broken leg and all that. I can't imagine the future being any more eventful."

"Can't you?" Ross raised an eyebrow. "That's a pretty mild year by most standards."

"Then..." Monica walked over to the kitchen and put the teacups in the sink. "I guess all I'm afraid of is that things will get weirder. I like normal."

"Oh?" Phoebe cocked her head. "Then why did you pick me as your roommate?"

Chandler piped up. "Yeah! I mean, you can't get much weirder than Phoebe." She nodded emphatically. "If you didn't like weird, she wouldn't be here. Neither would I, for that matter."

There was some truth to that, Monica decided. She'd allowed chaos to intrude on her ordered life. However, the chaos had been controlled, oxymoronic as that sounded. She felt she had a handle on Phoebe, and Chandler, and everyone and everything. No matter how weird they acted, she could always bring them to heel.

She wasn't about to share that with them, however. Smiling enigmatically, Monica took the champagne out of the refrigerator. "Okay, come get some glasses. I'm going to open this over the sink."

Chandler chuckled. "Oh, you wild woman you."

The four of them stood together in front of the television as the ball slowly fell. When it hit bottom and the numbers "1992" lit up, she shared a toast and a hug with everyone and felt fairly certain that the new year would indeed be happy.

* * *

(to be continued) 


	26. Monica and her Other Other New Neighbor

Monica frowned up at the sky, hoping it didn't start raining before she got home. She'd neglected to bring an umbrella, which was just plain dumb. She needed to be smarter than this. Now that winter was behind her, she should be able to focus better on the world around her. 

The apartment building loomed, and she smiled up at it. It had been almost two years now, and she still felt a glow about living here, that she had a place that was hers, that made her feel safe and comfortable.

With a well-practiced maneuver, she unlocked the front door and was through it in less than five seconds. Monica leaped up the stairs, feeling unusually exuberant. She turned the corner, slowed, and came to a complete stop in front of her door.

A man was coming out of Chandler's apartment. A gorgeous man. A hunk in every sense of the word. Great body, handsome face, and he saw her and gave her a smile that made her heart race. The man kept smiling at her as Chandler said behind him, "Well okay Jerry, thanks for stopping by."

Jerry. What a neat name. Monica absolutely could not stop the foolish grin that was on her face. "Hi."

"Hey." Jerry's smile was so great, so natural and beautiful, that Monica wanted to look at it for hours. Instead, he moved past her towards the stairs.

Monica looked at Chandler, who seemed surprised by her reaction. She mouthed "Oh my God" at him and he rolled his eyes.

She unlocked her apartment door and Chandler followed her inside. "So," Monica asked brightly, "who was that?"

"Just one of the guys I'm interviewing."

"Ah." Monica nodded. Chandler had been advertising for weeks, and had entertained Monica, Phoebe, and Ross with stories of exactly how unsuitable each person he interviewed was. From personality flaws to ferrets, each potential roommate had a fatal flaw so far. "So tell me that's your new roommate."

"Yeah, right."

"Oh come on!" Monica beamed at him as they sat on the couch. "He's so cute."

"Right, just what I'm looking for. Someone I can walk around with and be referred to as the funny one. Besides, the other guy is much better."

"Much better how?"

"He works. Really works, as a photographer. Jerry's just an out-of-work actor."

"He told you he was out of work?"

"No, but I choose to believe he is."

Monica slapped Chandler on the arm. "What's the real reason?"

"He, he's got a beach house we can use in the summer."

"Jerry?"

"No, the other guy, Eric. How great would that be?"

"Dunno." Monica thought it over, then shrugged. "I guess it would be nice. Just never thought it would be a deciding factor."

"And Jerry's good looks are? I hate to bring it up, but you remember what happened the last time you fell in love with my roommate."

Monica's smile faded. "Point to you. Okay, go with the photographer."

"Glad to have your support."

There was a knocking on the door. Monica frowned, trying to remember the last time someone had actually knocked. She'd gotten so used to Ross and Chandler just coming in whenever they liked. Exchanging a curious glance with Chandler, she stood up and opened the door.

An older man, unkempt, wearing pajamas and bathrobe, glared at her. "You're making too much noise."

Monica blinked. She knew this guy. His name would come to her in a minute. He lived elsewhere in the building. "Mr. Heckles?" When he didn't immediately correct her, she continued on. "We're just talking."

"You're disturbing me. Stop it."

Monica blinked. "We're not making noise, Mr. Heckles."

"Yes you are. You're disturbing my party guests."

Monica frowned at his pajamas. "You're not having a party."

His response was immediate. "I could be having a party."

She didn't know what to say. She looked over at Chandler.

He jumped to his feet, joined her at the door. "Mr. Heckles, we're not making any noise here. If you have a problem, bring it up with Mr. Treeger."

"Treeger makes too much noise climbing the stairs. All day long, up and down the stairs, stomping, stomping, stomping." Mr. Heckles turned and walked back towards the stairs. "Stomp, stomp."

Monica closed the door, her good mood completely washed away. "What was that all about?"

Chandler sighed. "I think he's probably in the early stages of dementia. I saw it happen to my great-uncle."

"Dementia?"

"Alzheimer's, whatever they call it these days." Chandler shook his head. "Not much you can do except try to humor him."

Monica thinned her lips as she walked back to the couch. "Should we tell anyone?"

"Not, not right now." Chandler didn't follow her, instead walking into the kitchen to pour himself some juice. "They might evict him, force him into a home. As long as he can still take care of himself, we should just let him be. Trust me, anything's better than a nursing home. Anything."

Monica grimaced. "Okay, I'll go easy on him."

"Oh, don't do that." Chandler took a sip of his juice. "He just might be eccentric and incredibly annoying."

Monica growled, and only kept herself from throwing a couch pillow at him out of fear he'd spill his juice over it. "Just so long as you're sure the photographer guy is the right guy."

"Whoa, topic switch!" He whipped his head around and grasped it as if it hurt.

"Just returning to the previous subject. You sure after umpteen interviews that photographer guy is it?"

"Did I tell you about the beach house?"

"Yes. So all along you were waiting for someone to provide you with just the right bribe?"

That seemed to bring Chandler up short. He looked out the window thoughtfully. "Okay, so maybe the... the perks meant more to me than really checking out how good a guy he was. But really, he spoke well and... and had an interesting job and... and well, I think I'd enjoy having him as a roommate."

"Well," Monica said resignedly, "I know who I'd enjoy having as a neighbor."

Chandler eyed her for a moment with a smile. "Tell you what, if Photographer Guy doesn't work out after a month, I'll kick him out and invite Actor Guy."

"Deal!" Monica grinned up at him.

They turned on the television after that. Meanwhile, Monica began wondering if Phoebe had some secret hex spell she could cast on Photographer Guy to keep him harmlessly out of the way to make room for Jerry.

* * *

. 

Monica stepped out of the shower and stretched. She felt relatively cool now, but that was sure to change. It was unseasonably warm for March, and according to Mr. Treeger, the building owners had it written into every lease that the central air conditioning wouldn't be turned on until the first of April at the earliest.

She quickly dried herself off, walked into the bedroom, and changed. It was Friday and she didn't have to work. She needed something to do, though, some plan. She looked around the apartment, trying to decide what projects she could undertake. But she could already feel the heat building, and decided to wait for a more apropos moment.

Maybe she could go visit a museum or something. Or go see a movie. Too bad Chandler was working today, she could have dragged him with her. She smiled to herself, imagining what commentary he would come up with.

Well, there had to be something to do in New York. First step would be checking the paper. Monica walked over towards the front door, opened it, and came to a sudden and complete stop.

It was him. Actor Guy. Jerry. Standing in a tee-shirt and holding a box, one of many that littered the hallway. He turned towards her and Monica couldn't help smiling widely. "Hi again."

"Hey." Jerry grinned, then entered the apartment, passing by Chandler who was dressed for work.

She picked up the paper in a kind of daze as Chandler greeted her with a "Hey".

Monica beamed at him. "Thank you soooo much."

Chandler rolled his eyes. "Don't thank me. Photographer Guy never showed up when he was supposed to move in."

"Oh?" Monica tilted her head, regarding Chandler. "And, and you didn't call him to find out why?"

Chandler shrugged. "I figured if he didn't want to move in, I wasn't going to force him. Besides, it wasn't who you really wanted to move in, was it?"

Monica felt a Phoebe-like smile split her face. "Again, thank you."

Chandler grinned. "Well, I'm off to work. And not just for the money, every once in a while someone walks out of the bathroom with a little bit of toilet paper stuck to their shoe."

Monica giggled with him, finding herself in a mood when even the stupidest jokes seemed funny. Chandler left, and Monica felt her eyes drifting back to the apartment opposite. Jerry came out, flashed another delightful grin, and bent down to pick up a box.

Monica eyed the box. "Need some help with that?"

"Oh, no thanks, I got it." He straightened, then staggered backwards. "No I don't!"

Monica took a step forward, preventing him from falling over backwards. With a grunt he put the box back down. Monica spoke over his shoulder. "Okay?"

"Uh, yeah." Jerry looked flushed. "Just, uh, stood up too quickly, that's all."

"The heat." Monica suddenly discovered that she had a hand on either side of his torso. She had no memory at all of placing them there, and hastily withdrew them. "And, and the humidity."

"Yeah. Tough combination." Jerry looked like he had noticed the touch, too.

Monica floundered about for something to say. "Do you want to come in for some lemonade?"

Jerry responded with enthusiasm. "Like you wouldn't believe."

Monica led him into the apartment. Jerry looked around. "Wow, this is a great place."

"Thanks. Make yourself comfortable." She waved towards the living room as she walked over to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator, took out the pitcher of lemonade. "This place used to be my Grandmother's. She let me have it when she moved to Florida, otherwise I couldn't afford it. So if the landlord ever asks, I'm really an eighty-seven year old woman." She carried the pitcher to the cupboard, took out two glasses. "You thirsty?"

"Oh, you bet I am."

"Okay." Monica filled the glasses nearly to the brim. She set the pitcher down, turned around. "Here's your-"

She stopped. Her mind went into a mild kind of shock, totally unable to process what she saw in front of her, unable to believe that it was real. She stared and stared, and for some reason the image refused to change.

Jerry stood in front of the couch, completely naked, his clothes on the floor around him. His interest, Monica could not help noticing, was definitely aroused.

"Oh my God." Monica fought to keep her voice from screaming and didn't entirely succeed. "What the hell are you doing?"

Jerry blinked. "You asked if I wanted to come in for some lemonade."

"So?"

"Whoa." Jerry seemed completely taken aback. "You were just gonna give me some lemonade?"

"Yeah huh!" Monica felt her arms begin to shake, put the glasses on the kitchen table. "Cover yourself up!"

"Oh, right, yeah." Jerry quickly reached for his pants.

"I don't believe this!" Monica felt some of the fuzz begin to leave her brain. "Someone invites you in for lemonade, and to you that means they wanna have sex?"

"Well, usually." Jerry sounded defensive now. "I mean, sorry, I just, I thought you liked me. I'm such a jerk."

Monica was in no mood to disagree. She turned and took the pitcher from the counter, finally putting her back to him. "Look, Jerry, I don't know what kind of bimbos you've dated, but I'm not one of those. Got it?"

"Uh, yeah."

"When I offer you some lemonade, it's just lemonade. Got that, Jerry?"

"Uh, yeah, got it."

Monica sighed. "I, I don't want us to get totally off on the wrong foot here. I, I suppose this could happen to anyone." She put the lemonade back in the refrigerator, turned around, winced. "I can still see it."

"Oops." Jerry quickly zipped his fly.

Monica thinned her lips. "Look, Chandler's last roommate was a disaster, he and I had a really uncomfortable situation. I don't want to put Chandler through that again. So for his sake, I'm going to try and pretend that you're not a completely oversexed total jerk. But don't ever, ever try to pull something like that on me again."

"I so won't."

"Do we understand each other, Jerry?"

"Yes, ma'am."

He looked so completely abashed and contrite that Monica cut short her lecture by several pages. She wasn't sure whether his hurt-boy expression was cultivated - he was an actor, after all - but she couldn't help being affected by it. He really did seem embarrassed by what happened and eager to make whatever amends he could. Monica sighed and let a lot of her anger drain away. "Get your clothes off the floor and get out of here."

"Yes, ma'am." Jerry scooped up his clothes and more-or-less scuttled away.

Monica sat at the kitchen table, emotionally spent. It had taken her less than fifteen minutes to totally alienate herself from Chandler's new roommate. At least the process had gone much faster than it had with Kip.

Monica shook her head and forced herself to admit that what Jerry had done wasn't nearly as bad as the whole Kip thing. But it was bad enough.

Poor Chandler. His roommates seemed cursed somehow.

Monica sighed and stood up. Deciding the lemonade shouldn't go to waste, she carried both glasses with her into the living and sat on the couch. She turned on the television and began flipping channels, desperately trying to distract herself from the image of Jerry standing naked in her apartment.

* * *

. 

Monica stood in front of the open refrigerator, mentally waging a fierce debate. On most Saturday nights the four of them went out and did their separate things, but tonight Ross was coming over for dinner, and Phoebe would be here. Chandler would also probably come, but would almost certainly want to bring his new roommate. Whether to fix dinner for everyone or just let them fend for themselves and excuse herself from the apartment was a tough decision. She wasn't quite over the whole lemonade incident but she really should make an effort.

It was just so difficult; no one had ever shocked her quite like that before.

The apartment door burst open. "Hey there, hi there, ho there, you're as welcome as can be."

Monica turned and forced a smile to her lips, and found that it wasn't at all difficult. "Hey there. Your roommate all moved in?"

"Yup!" Chandler shut the apartment door, leaned against the half-wall that separated the front door from the kitchen. "Didn't take long. We spent most of the evening watching television."

"Ah." Monica wasn't sure how to broach the subject of yesterday's naked foray, so temporized with, "So, do you like him?"

"He's great!" Chandler positively glowed. "He showed me aspects of television I never knew existed! We drank beers as he told me about various actresses and their work."

"Oh?" Monica blinked. "Which actresses?"

"Who cares!" Chandler grinned. "They're all so bouncy."

Monica shook her head in amused disgust. "I see. And you consider that a productive evening?"

"Hey, compared to Kip the sleazebag, this was prime entertainment!" Chandler slowed down slightly. "He's really easy to talk to. We gabbed about all sorts of stuff. I never, ever talked to Kip like that. I think he'll fit right in, everyone will like him."

"Everyone?"

"Yes, even Phoebe. I wonder what she'll say about his aura."

Just as well Chandler misunderstood her. Monica had another brief mental debate, then came to a decision. "Well, invite Jerry over to dinner tonight, everyone will be here. We'll get to see him for ourselves."

"Okay. Joey, by the way."

Monica had begun to turn towards the refrigerator again but stopped. "What?"

"His name's Joey."

"But..." Monica shook her head. "But you called him Jerry."

"Did I?" Chandler frowned. "Well, I was wrong then, sorry."

Joey. Monica stared dumbfounded at Chandler for a few seconds. "Uh, send him over for a couple of minutes. I want to make certain he doesn't have any special dietary restrictions before I make dinner. Y'know, cheese allergies or something."

"Sure." Chandler grinned, then left the apartment.

Monica looked down at the floor, then over at the refrigerator, thinking deeply.

A knock came on the door. Monica kept her gaze on the refrigerator as she called out, "It's open."

The sounds of someone entering. The sounds of feet shuffling uncomfortably. "Uh... I, uh... Chandler said... hey, anything you fix, I'll eat. Anything."

Monica turned to face the voice. "Chandler says your name is Joey."

"Uh, yeah, that's right. Joey Tribbiani."

"Joey." Monica tilted her head slightly. "I kept calling you Jerry."

"Uh, yeah, I noticed."

"Why didn't you correct me?"

"Well..." Joey gulped. "You, you were so mad, and, and I had screwed up so badly, I... it... it seemed like the wrong time to bring it up."

Monica stared at him some more. Joey looked increasingly uncomfortable but held her gaze.

"Okay," Monica finally announced. "Okay. So, maybe you do have a little discretion and tact."

"Uh... what?"

"Maybe you truly were sorry about what happened." Her tone was still hard and frosty; Monica forced herself to soften it. "Maybe it really was a miscommunication."

"Listen, I so would not have done that if I hadn't thought you wanted me to." Joey's voice was very close to pleading. "Please believe me."

Something loosened inside of Monica. "I, I do believe you." She walked up to him, held out her hand. "Monica Geller."

Relief bloomed across his features. He shook her hand. "I'm glad to meet you, Monica."

She nodded and withdrew her hand. "Chandler comes over for dinner all the time, and he hangs out with my roommate and my brother. I hope you'll feel comfortable hanging out with us as well."

"I, I'd like that. Chandler talked about you guys last night."

"But understand this: you and I will never date, ever. Chandler is my friend, and he likes you, so I'll try to like you, too. But that's all it will ever be. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And for God's sake, don't call me ma'am." She smiled. "It's Monica."

"Monica." Joey smiled back, although still a little nervously. "So, do these same rules apply to your roommate?"

God, what a pushy jerk. At the same time, Monica couldn't help feeling a little amused by how quickly he seemed to rebound. "Her name's Phoebe, and I'll let her tell you what the rules are regarding her. Just don't start with the assumption that she wants to have sex with you at first sight, all right?"

"Yes, ma- uh, Monica." Joey's smile was wider now. "See you later for dinner."

"Tell Chandler dinner will be in an hour. But if you guys want to hang out for a while here first, that's fine too. Phoebe should be home any time now, and Ross - my brother - will probably be here in twenty minutes."

"Gotcha." Looking considerably more perky, Joey walked back out the door.

Monica blew out a breath. Wow. That had been an interesting experience. She'd been half-prepared to never talk to the man she knew as Jerry ever again. But when Chandler had spouted such effervescent praise for his new roommate, something had begun to change. If he made Chandler feel that good, then Joey had to be a good guy. Something inside her couldn't stay mad at someone Chandler liked so well.

Joey had helped matters by being open and honest, and Monica appreciated that. There were sterling qualities there, just a little buried beneath a face that was pretty and an ego that knew it just a little too well. Hopefully, with Chandler's help, she could learn to see the good in Joey.

Nodding to herself that the world was now a little better defined than it had been a while ago, Monica turned to the task of fixing dinner.

* * *

(to be continued)


	27. Monica and Middle Names

Monica turned the temperature of the oven all the way down to "warm" and sighed in frustration. No one was here, which annoyed her. 

Almost as soon as she turned away from the oven, though, the door opened and Ross waved at her. "Hey."

"Hey." Ross looked around. "Where is everyone?"

"Don't know. Phoebe should have been here by now. Chandler and his new roommate should be coming over any minute."

"Oh? What's he like?"

A lot passed through Monica's mind in a second. "Why don't I just let you form your own first impressions. I'll just say that Chandler really likes him. And, with certain reservations, I like him too."

Ross nodded. "I could understand that you'd be cautious."

Monica turned back towards the oven so that Ross wouldn't see her wince. She truly had almost made the same mistake with Joey that she had with Kip - being overwhelmingly attracted right away, to the point where her judgment had been impaired. At least with Joey she had been able to pull back and recover in time. Hopefully.

The door opened again. "And this is where Janet and Chrissy live. Oh, and look, Mr. Roper's come to visit. I swear it was all a misunderstanding, Mr. Roper."

Monica smiled as she turned off the oven and took out the casserole. Behind her, Ross snorted and said, "Hi. I'm Ross."

"Hey. Joey. So you're Monica's brother?"

"That's right. And I used to room with Chandler in college. So you need any advice on how to adjust to him, let me know."

"And if you need any help dealing with Dinosaur Ross hanging out here all the time, let me know."

Monica put the casserole in the center of the table. "Let's not wait any more. Sit down and eat. Joey, close the door please."

Joey began closing the door, but it was stopped halfway and pushed back open by a harried-looking Phoebe. "Oh, I'm sorry I'm late for dinner, Mrs. Kowalski had such problems with her aura, it took me hours to straighten out." She set her guitar down with a sigh. "Oh good, I'm not too late, it smells very delicious Monica."

Joey closed the door. Monica noticed with annoyance that Joey was actively checking out Phoebe from behind and nodding appreciatively.

Chandler piped up. "Pheebs, I don't think you've met my new roommate."

Phoebe turned around. From the kitchen Monica had a good look at both of them in profile. Phoebe's eyes widened, and Monica could see that Joey has having the same initial effect on Phoebe that Monica herself had experienced. Phoebe's skin was naturally very pale, so when she began blushing, the effect was dramatic. Monica could actually see the red bloom from Phoebe's cheeks and creep down her neck.

Joey grinned and spoke with a peculiar emphasis. "How you-" He abruptly stopped, glanced over at Monica, then spoke in a more normal tone of voice. "Er, I mean, hi, my name's Joey Tribbiani."

Phoebe emitted a noise not unlike a mouse squeaking.

Joey chuckled and held out his hand. "Your name is Pheebs?"

"Mmm-hmm." Phoebe nodded rapidly.

"Great." Joey glanced over at Monica again, and she guessed that he was going through a great internal struggle. After a couple of seconds, he came up with, "So, Monica's fixed us something that smells great, shall we eat?"

"Mmm. Mmm-hmm."

Joey frowned very slightly, then tried moving to one side. Phoebe seemed to realize then that she was standing in Joey's way and quickly backed up. She turned and sat at the kitchen table, her face still beet red.

Ross and Chandler were both clearly quite amused by the encounter, but thankfully said nothing as they sat. Ross began serving the casserole as he asked, "So, tell us what you do, Joey."

"I'm an actor. Well, trying to be one." Joey sat at the only empty spot, straight across from Phoebe, who kept looking at him and away again. "I've done a couple of commercials and some small parts in off-off-Broadway plays."

"Oh?" Chandler accepted a plate from Ross. "I thought you were telling me it was off-off-off-off-Broadway, more like Des Moines-Broadway plays."

"Well, they are in New York," Joey said somewhat defensively. "Or the New York area. Anyway, I'm just getting started, it takes a while to break into these things."

"Right. Thank goodness you didn't have to go the slow way like Neil Patrick Harris."

"Hey, I could have played a teenaged doctor if they'd given me an audition!" Joey took a big bite of casserole, nodded at Monica in appreciation, swallowed, then glared at Chandler. "It's not like you're doing wonderful things with your life, is it? Been working as a temp for, what, two years now?"

Monica raised her eyebrows slightly. This seemed awfully aggressive, but then again, Chandler had started it with his comments on Joey's work. Monica kept her mouth closed and decided to see how it worked out.

Chandler, for his part, didn't seem the least bit offended. He simply grinned back at Joey. "Hey, at least it's within sight of Broadway. Okay, it's not in sight of an actual career, but it's getting there."

"You should decide on a career sometime," Ross interjected. "At least Joey's trying to do something he likes doing."

Chandler rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Poor me, I'll just have to settle for having rent money every week."

Joey grunted. "Well, that I'll give ya. Some weeks I've had nothing to eat but jam sandwiches. But I keep at it, y'know? I know a lotta guys that do stupid stuff, like being waiters or cooks, terrible boring things that just suck the life out of them. I'd rather starve."

Monica smiled very slightly, finding a strange kind of amusement growing inside her. Poor Joey; he seemed to have a terrible case of foot-in-mouth disease today.

"Uh, Joe..." Chandler's voice was slightly more serious. "Some people actually like to cook. Like, for example, Monica."

"Oh yeah, she's a great cook." Joey flashed her a grin. "But can you imagine having to do nothing but cook for hour after hour, day after day? It would drive me insane."

"I'm guessing that would be a short trip," Chandler quipped. There was a warning undertone to his voice.

One that Joey seemed to miss entirely. He chuckled. "Hey, funny boy, just you wait. I had this one girl tell me that there's a tiny line between smart and crazy. And Ma sometimes says-"

"What's your middle name?"

Joey blinked and turned towards Phoebe. The blush had faded slightly from her cheeks, and she was now looking steadily at Joey, a serious expression on her face.

"Uh..." Joey drew his eyebrows together in puzzlement. "Why do you want to know?"

"Because." Phoebe's voice was strangely matter-of-fact. "When you want someone to really focus on you, when you want them to truly listen and completely believe what you have to say, you call them by their middle name."

"Oh. Ma does that too, sometimes. Anyway, it's Francis."

"Francis?" Chandler was nearly laughing. "Isn't that awfully... girly?"

Joey looked at Chandler and narrowed his eyes. "What's your middle name?"

Chandler instantly assumed a sober expression. He nodded at Joey. "Francis. What a truly noble name."

"You better believe it is." Joey leaned in slightly towards Chandler. "So, you gonna tell us what-"

"Joseph Francis Tribbiani."

Joey's head whipped around as if compelled. Monica found herself looking at Phoebe as well. Phoebe's voice was hard and low, containing an edge Monica had seldom heard. Phoebe's expression was blank as she stared intently at Joey. Monica edged back a little from the table, ready for anything

Joey didn't know any of Phoebe's mannerisms, but he clearly knew he was in some kind of trouble. "Uh... Yes, Pheebs?"

"You said some very mean things about Monica just now. I want you to apologize to her."

"Mean... mean things?" Joey looked over at Monica, then back to Phoebe. "What, what mean things? I-"

Ross gently interrupted. "Monica is a cook. A professional cook. She works at a restaurant uptown."

"Oh." Joey looked at Monica. She raised an eyebrow at him, awaiting his reaction. Joey looked deeply embarrassed. "Oh God, Monica, I'm so sorry, I... oh jeeze." He looked up at the ceiling. "I can't have done this twice in twenty-four hours."

Because she wasn't truly upset and because he was so clearly suffering, she let him off the hook easily. "That's okay Joey. I know you only meant there's a difference between working at a job doing things you love doing and working at a job you hate."

"Yes!" Joey pointed his finger at her. "Yes, that's exactly what I meant." He paused, and said with several layers of meaning, "Thank you."

Monica smiled at him, then looked over at Phoebe. "See? All better now. And thanks for sticking up for me."

"You're welcome." Phoebe was slowly coming out of her expressionless phase, and her next statement contained a touch of her normal liveliness. "What's this about twice in twenty-four hours?"

"Oh." Joey glanced at Monica, who nodded her permission. "Uh, well, okay, I was moving in, and..."

* * *

(to be continued)


	28. Monica and Eavesdropping

Monica leaned sat back on her patio lounger and closed her eyes, letting the sun beat on her face. The summer had been cooler than usual, so today's bright sunshine was welcome. Not that Monica was much for suntans - she had no desire to dry out her skin and risk getting cancer - but this time she was just going to let the warmness spread over her. 

The past few months had passed by lazily. Joey, despite his initial gaffes, had blended in well with the group. Monica could see why Chandler liked him; Joey was friendly, easy to talk to, and playful. He was a boy in a man's body. A very attractive man's body. Still, Monica had found no rekindling at all of the initial overwhelming attraction she'd felt. She liked Joey but would never pine over him as she had done Kip. Which, she had long ago decided, was a good thing.

Today had been a day she was going to go out and do some shopping. But seeing the sun outside had given her the impulse to just sit and relax. She'd have time later. Or tomorrow. Right now, just for now, she was going to take pleasure in doing absolutely nothing.

She heard the apartment door open. Someone started moving around inside, and Monica tried to figure out who it could be. The person hadn't opened the refrigerator or turned on the television, so it couldn't be any of the guys. It had to be Phoebe.

It was strange, though, that Phoebe hadn't called out to her or said hello. Perhaps it was because of all the plants; they blocked much of the view out of the window. Monica hoped that was all it was. The plants were still a sore subject to Monica; they were far too messy, and although she grudgingly admitted that Phoebe took excellent care of them, there were still leaves and things that occasionally spilled onto the floor. Monica hated finding them and tsked loudly every time she had to pick one up. Phoebe would always apologize when this happened, but lately her apologies had been a little terse.

Something had to give, eventually. Monica had started a campaign suggesting that Phoebe get rid of some of the plants to allow a less cluttered feeling around the window. Phoebe, who had named every single plant, so far hadn't been receptive. Perhaps in time.

Monica just hoped that Phoebe's failure to call out was because of the blocked view, not because of any lingering resentment. Monica still loved having Phoebe as a roommate. Well, perhaps loved was too strong a word. Greatly enjoyed. Better.

Phoebe continued to bustle about, and was clearly involved in some project. Monica idly wondered what Phoebe did when she was alone in the apartment. Such moments had to be rare, as Phoebe worked most days and the guys came over most evenings and weekends.

The door opened again, and Chandler said brightly, "Avon calling!"

"Hey guys!" Phoebe responded with enthusiasm, and leading Monica to believe that someone - probably Joey - was with Chandler. The refrigerator door was quickly opened, cementing Monica's belief. Joey was a big fan of Monica's cooking and was often fishing for leftovers.

"Where's Monica?" Chandler asked.

"Dunno. I think she said she was going shopping today."

Monica smiled; no one really could see her. She decided not to reveal herself for now. She was enjoying herself too much, and the sun was still enticing.

"Watcha up to, Phoebe?" This from Joey, confirming Monica's assumption.

"I'm trying to make my room more open and free. I'm glad you guys are here. Help me take this off."

"Uh, you sure?"

"Yup. I could do it myself but it's easier with you two."

"Hmm. Have a screwdriver?"

"Yes yes, over here."

"That's a hammer."

"Oh, I mean this."

"That's a Phillips. I need a flathead."

"A what?"

"Here," Chandler interjected.

"Thanks, dude. Hold it up a minute."

Monica's concern deepened. She could hear something being bumped around, and Joey and Chandler were making soft grunts of effort. Whatever they were up to, Monica was fairly certain she wouldn't like it.

Something went thump, causing Monica to half get up out of her chair. But there were no exclamations of dismay from anyone, only Chandler saying, "Where do you want this, Pheebs?"

"Just lean it against the wall over there. Thanks guys."

"Anytime." Joey's voice moved over to the couch. "What are these things?"

"That's what I'm going to hang up!" Something rustled. "What do you think?"

It was Chandler who answered. "That's awfully... hippyish, don't you think?"

"Hippyish?"

Joey piped in. "Y'know, like Goldie Hawn in Butterflies Are Free. Boy was she hot back then."

"Goldie Hawn?"

"Yeah. You get to see her in her underwear and everything."

Phoebe sounded slightly confused. "So you're saying I'm Goldie Hawn?"

"The early 70's Goldie Hawn, yeah. Except taller."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"She's in that new movie with Meryl Streep and Bruce Willis," Chandler said. "We could go check her out for ourselves."

"I am so confused," Phoebe replied. "How'd we get from beads to Bruce Willis?"

"Oh, that's nothing. I can look at a piece of toast and drive the conversation to Sofia Coppola's movie-destroying performance in The Godfather, Part III."

"Hey, that wasn't her fault," Joey said quickly. "That whole thing was a disaster from the get-go, Sofia had nothing to do with it."

"C'mon, it wasn't all bad. At least we get to see Jane Fonda's daughter in the nude."

"Niece, and you can't see that much. Now, if you wanna talk nudity, did you know the highest-grossing movie that Canada ever produced is Porky's?"

"Hey," Chandler said brightly. "Good things come from Canada. Do you remember the scene where-"

"Oh, you boys," Phoebe interrupted. "One of these days we'll have to talk about how silly it is to drool over pictures of naked women."

"Hey, it's not-"

"But not today," Phoebe said firmly. "All done, watcha think?"

"So," Chandler said after a moment, "what if you have company overnight? Won't Monica object?"

"Oh, Monica won't mind."

"Are we talking about the same Monica? The one that nearly broke my arm for attempting to eat a sandwich on the couch without a plate?"

"Yes, yes," Phoebe said absently. "Look, I'm going to take the leftover beads to my grandmother. She can make something with them, she likes to fiddle with things. I'll see you later."

"Bye Pheebs."

"See ya Phoebe."

Monica heard the door open and close. Now would be a good time to go inside and see what Phoebe was up to. But she was now feeling slightly guilty for having hidden out on the patio for so long, and decided to simply wait and see if she was discovered. She closed her eyes, already preparing the excuse that she had fallen asleep.

The guys, however, simply turned on the television. They flipped through several channels before Chandler said, "Goldie Hawn?"

"1970's Goldie Hawn."

"You should have seen her when she first moved in. She was more like a 1960's Janice Joplin."

"Who?"

"She was spaced out. I mean, even more so than she is now. She's so much more... focused now. She's almost like a normal person these days."

"Hey, man, watch what you say about her. She's more normal than you are sometimes."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry." A pause. "You like Phoebe, don't you?"

"Well, yeah, she's neat."

"I mean, more than that. And I'm pretty sure if you made just the slightest effort she'd fall for you in a heartbeat."

"Do you think?"

"Man, do you see how she hardly takes her eyes off of you?"

"Well, yeah, but most women can't help it."

"Wow. That must be great."

"It is, man. I like being me."

"So why haven't you asked Phoebe out?"

"I, I don't know." Joey sounded slightly frustrated. "It's... I mean... she, she and Monica... they're women my age that I talk to all the time, and, and they're not family, and for some reason I haven't slept with either of them."

"That's really that unusual for you?"

"Man, it's never ever happened. Not since I was fifteen."

Silence for about a minute. Then Chandler said softly, "And you like it?"

"Yeah." Joey sounded awed. "Yeah, I mean, I kinda do. I... they... they're so hot, and... God, Phoebe has a nice butt and a great rack, but... I don't want to screw things up by sleeping with her. Y'know?"

"I do," Chandler said. "They're great people to hang around with."

"Yeah. And, and I kinda want to hang on to that for as long as possible. Y'know?"

"Yup. I absolutely know."

"Don't, don't tell either of them that."

"Mum's the word. But... have you ever considered the possibility that you could go out with Phoebe and not screw things up with her?"

"You, you mean like... be monotonous?"

"Monogamous?"

"That too."

"Yes, that's what I mean."

"Jeeze... limit myself to dating one woman?"

Chandler chuckled softly. "Sorry, Joe. I guess that's asking too much."

"You better believe it. How could I live?"

"It would be a nightmare, I agree." Chandler sounded amused.

"Man, nothing good on. Wanna go shoot some hoops?"

"Yeah, sure." The television was turned off. "Spot me ten points?"

"Yeah, right, ya wimp."

"Card-carrying member of Wimps Anonymous. The secret handshake is to flinch and cringe when someone tries to offer one."

"You're a funny man, Chandler. I'm gonna-" The door was closed, shutting off the conversation.

After perhaps two minutes, Monica got up. She stepped through the window into the once-again empty apartment. Her eyes immediately fixed on the entrance to Phoebe's bedroom. The door had been removed, and beads now hung in strings from hooks at the top of the door jamb all the way to the floor.

Monica thinned her lips. This was going too far. Phoebe should have checked with her first before doing this. And given that Phoebe did, in fact, have occasional overnight partners, this would things extremely uncomfortable.

Monica sighed and sat back down on the couch. This was the plant fight all over again. Phoebe was asserting her independence, which was a good thing. Chandler was right, Phoebe had made tremendous strides over the past couple of years. At the same time, Monica was having more and more problems adjusting to the new person Phoebe was becoming.

Monica drew a deep breath, held it, and let the frustration out. She'd adjust. Phoebe was someone she cherished, and Monica would just have to find a way around the minor annoyances.

Going to the closet, Monica pulled out the broom and began sweeping the wooden floors near Phoebe's door, cleaning up all messes, real and imagined, left behind by her roommate.

* * *

(to be continued)


	29. Monica and the Tie Dyed Shirt

Monica finished putting her shoes on and stood up. Mentally she went over the list. Exercising/showering was done for the day. Up next was dinner at the bar. Then later, meeting up with Jason, the guy she was currently dating. Plenty of time to get some cleaning in this afternoon. Nodding to herself, she opened her bedroom door and strode into the living room. 

Immediately her eyes fell on Phoebe, asleep on the couch. Monica growled. "Phoebe! Get your feet off the couch!"

Phoebe's eyes slowly opened. She stared fuzzily at Monica. "What?"

"I said, get your feet off the couch! I just cleaned that yesterday."

Phoebe still looked puzzled. She lifted up her feet just as Monica was swatting at them. Monica eyed the cushions as Phoebe sat up. They were all wrinkly now. She began fluffing them.

Phoebe stood up and wandered over to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator door and stared inside.

After a few seconds, Monica thinned her lips, walked over, and firmly shut the refrigerator door. "Take a picture, then decide. You're wasting all the cold."

She turned back towards the living room, eyeing the area in front of the plants. No leaves, which was good. Perhaps it was time to dust the furniture. Yes, that would be good. There was probably an inch of pollen on everything by now.

Behind her the refrigerator door opened and closed again. Monica turned just in time to see Phoebe, sitting at the kitchen table, lifting a carton of orange juice to her lips. Monica's eyes widened. "What do you think you're doing!"

Phoebe froze, the carton still a few inches from her lips. She stared back at Monica, a blank expression on her face.

Monica shook her head. Did it have to be like this? Surely she didn't need to be yelling at Phoebe over silly things. "Here." She walked over, took the carton and two bananas Phoebe had also taken from the refrigerator. She walked over to the counter, set the bananas down, got a glass from the cupboard, and filled it with juice. She handed it to Phoebe. "Enjoy. Give me just two minutes and I'll make you a nice fruit salad. Okay?"

"Okay." Phoebe took a sip of the juice.

Monica went to the refrigerator, pulled out some grapes, an apple, and nonfat whipped cream. She quickly prepared a fruit salad, added a touch of cinnamon and nutmeg, and served it to Phoebe. Monica smiled, patted Phoebe on the side of her head a couple of times, and went back to cleaning.

She felt happy, contented. That was good, that was a better way to deal with her roommate. All was well with the world, they were both happy and light and breezy. They could keep this up forever, Monica just knew it.

As she dusted, Phoebe finished the fruit salad and cleaned up the kitchen a bit. Phoebe, by experience, knew to just rinse off the plate but not attempt to actually wash it. Monica smiled slightly as she straightened from dusting the legs of the coffee table. They'd both made adjustments, and it was working well.

Monica glanced at the clock. "I'm going change and head over to the bar. Hanging out with the boys tonight?"

Phoebe looked over. Her expression was unusually thoughtful and sober. Not blank, not the dangerous still expression she used when she was upset or angry. Just preoccupied. For someone like Phoebe, who rarely thought things over for more than a few seconds, this was quite a change.

She seemed to slowly rise out of whatever deep thoughts she was having. "No. I think I'll go visit my grandmother tonight."

"All right." Monica smiled, then ducked into the bedroom to change.

Phoebe was gone by the time Monica emerged. She shrugged and headed out, locking the door behind her.

It was definitely cool, bordering on cold. Monica zipped up her jacket. Fortunately it wasn't far to the bar.

She stepped inside and looked around. As usual the place was far from crowded, and she spied Ross sitting with her parents. Monica braced herself and walked over. "Hello, everyone."

Ross and Dad greeted her warmly. Mom pointedly looked at her watch. Monica sighed; she'd arrived ten minutes early just to avoid this. To no avail.

"So tell me," Dad said as she sat at the booth, "what's new in the life of a busy New York City socialite such as yourself?"

Monica smiled. Her father probably had quite the wrong idea of the kind of life she led. "I'm dating this guy, he's a bartender."

Ross frowned. "Do I know this guy?"

"Sure you do. Remember Jason?"

Ross shook his head.

"Oh come on," Monica said testily. "He watched that Knicks game on television with you at my place."

"Oh. The long-haired guy?"

"No. Never mind."

Mother lifted up her wine glass. "I'm certain Ross has trouble keeping track of the men that sprint in and out of your life, Monica."

Monica felt her jaw clenching. A waiter came over and she mumbled out an order for a beer and a salad. Everyone else had evidently already placed their orders.

Mother, meanwhile, was looking around. "What a... dingy place. Do you come here often, Monica?"

"It's, it's close, and convenient."

"And it's got a nice pool table," Ross interjected. "Care to play a game, Dad?"

"Sure!" Father got up and they headed over, leaving Monica alone with her mother.

They stared at each other for a few seconds. Monica floundered around for a topic of conversation. "So, what are you going to do for Thanksgiving this year?"

"Oh, well, I was thinking of having your aunts over, and Nana may come up from Florida. And your father's brother and his family. Ross and Carol, of course. You can even bring this... Jason person if you like."

Monica had serious doubts the relationship would last another month but knew this wouldn't be wise to mention. "So, lots more than last year. Need any help preparing food?"

"Oh no," Mother said quickly. "I don't think so. You're busy, after all. I can manage just fine."

Monica swallowed a retort, managed a mild, "I'm a professional cook, you know. I'm used to making food for large number of people."

"I'm well aware of how you are around food, Monica."

The waiter arrived with her beer. Monica gratefully took it, noting in passing that the waiter had oddly-dyed short hair, and took a long sip.

"Don't drink too much, dear. Dinner isn't even here yet."

Monica put the beer down with perhaps a little more force than necessary. She should have guzzled down a couple before arriving. That might have made this a bit more tolerable.

"You look like you've put on a little weight, dear."

Monica shrugged. "Just two pounds, and that's only because I've stepped up my free-weights a bit."

"Oh, so you're saying it's just muscle?"

"Yeah."

"Being too muscle-bound won't help you keep a boyfriend, will it?"

"It's worked just fine for me so far." Monica cast her eyes across the room. Ross, where are you when I need you?

As if in answer, Dad and Ross came over. Father was smiling widely. "Nice play on the eight-ball, son."

"Thanks." Ross had his I-know-I'm-smart-but-I'm-trying-to-act-humble expression on his face. Still, Monica was grateful for anything that diverted attention away.

"So, Ross," Mother said with a smile, "have you and Carol decided on when you're going to give me a grandchild?"

Ross didn't respond immediately. Monica looked over, saw Ross attempting to hide pain behind a drink. Despair welled up in Monica. She'd been so sure Ross and Carol were over the hump. "How are things between you and Carol?" Monica found herself asking.

Ross put his beer down, looking down into it. "It's fine, we're, we're fine."

"No you're not," Monica said firmly. "Talk to me."

"What, what can I say?" Ross met her eyes. "What can I say that hasn't been said a hundred or a thousand times before? She, she's so distant, I, I can't quite figure out how to get to her."

"Well, how did you get to her in college?" Monica leaned forward. "What made you guys connect back then?"

"Oh, we were both, so, so interested in, in everything." Ross's eyes lost focus. "We went to Orlando that one year, went to Disney World and everything, it... it was the best."

"So do that again!" Monica gestured. "Get away, go somewhere together, rediscover the fun!"

"Don't, don't you think I've tried that?" Ross's voice rose just the tiniest bit before dropping back down. "Do you know how many times we, we've tried to rekindle... whatever it was we had? I just, I just don't know. She doesn't know, either, and... the whole thing is so... so frustrating."

Monica grimaced. "Want me to talk to her? See if I can help her figure it out?"

Ross shrugged. "You, you can try. I... I don't know how you can help."

She didn't know either, to tell the truth. Still, she plunged on. "I'd like to try. You guys can be so great together, I just know it."

"Well... thanks." Ross managed a small smile. "I, I'd do anything, to... to get back to where we were."

"I know." Monica reached out, put her hand on his arm. "I'd do anything to help you get back there, Ross, you know that."

"I do." Ross's smile grew a little wider. "I do, Mon. Thanks."

She smiled back. "You're welcome."

Dinner arrived, which not only broke Monica's train of thought but made her belatedly realize that her parents had been silent witnesses to the whole exchange. Monica suddenly felt ashamed of dragging out Ross's pain for his parents to see. But she didn't know what else she could have done; Ross hid it so well when he was hanging out at the apartment. She hadn't realized that it had gotten so bad again until just now.

Dinner proceeded, and Father filled the gap with various observations he found interesting. Ross responded, and even Monica contributed. Mother didn't say much, just ate her dinner slowly and methodically while watching Ross the whole while.

After dinner Father looked at his watch. "We better scoot if we're going to catch the play."

Mother nodded. "Ross, will you get our coats, please?"

"Of course. I'll pay for dinner while I'm at it."

"You will do no such thing, young man." Father stood up. "You have to save money for your children."

They argued as they moved off together towards the cashier.

Which, unfortunately, left Monica alone with Mother again. Her beer was empty and she didn't want to order another one yet. She looked around the bar, wishing desperately she could think of something innocuous to say.

"You know, I can't look after you children like I used to."

Monica blinked and looked back at Mother. "What?"

"You grew up and moved away. I don't see Ross nearly as much as you do."

"Uh, yeah, well, we both work in the city now."

"I know." Mother looked over at Ross, who was standing with Father as they each tried to give a credit card to a confused-looking man at the register. "I wanted him to be successful. I knew that his best chance for that would be here. But... I knew that I wouldn't... be able to support him like I once could."

Like you never did me. Monica bit back the response and simply said, "Uh huh."

"That's why..." Mother turned back to face Monica. "That's why it comforts me to know that... that you're here with him. I know he can turn to you if he needs the kind of support I can no longer give him."

Monica felt her face flush a bit. That sounded very nearly like a compliment. An almost-unprecedented thing coming from Mother.

The men arrived and Ross helped Mother into her coat. Father engulfed Monica in a hug and Mother allowed Monica to kiss her on the cheek. Father put his hand on Mother's back and seemed surprised when she stood still and didn't move towards the door. "Monica. I don't think I'll quite be able to cook everything I need in my oven for Thanksgiving. Could you bring the turkey, please?"

Monica felt a warm glow spread through her. "Sure!"

"Make certain it's big enough for everyone."

"Of course."

"And be sure it's well-cooked. Your father has a delicate stomach."

"I know."

"But don't let it become too dry, either."

"I won't."

Mother nodded. "Thank you. Jack, let's go."

She moved towards the door. Father looked vaguely surprised, but grinned at Monica and quickly followed.

That left Monica with Ross. He whistled softly. "Mom is actually allowing you to cook something?"

"I know!" Monica beamed up at him. "I'm going to make the best turkey ever, just you wait."

"I know you will." Ross seemed about to say more when he suddenly looked up.

A man stood over them, grinning foolishly at Monica. "Hey."

"Oh, hey," Monica responded with no great enthusiasm. "Ross, remember Jason Hurley?"

"Oh, sure," Ross said with almost-genuine warmth. "I'll leave you guys alone."

Monica watched as Ross put on his own coat. "Just so you know, no one's at the apartment."

"I was planning on checking up on Carol, actually." Ross waved at Monica and left.

Monica let Jason kiss her as he sat. "We weren't supposed to meet for another half-hour."

Jason shrugged. "I knew you were meeting your parents here, wanted to check them out. Man, your mom's hot for a fifty-year-old."

Monica mentally groaned; it was such faux pas' that had Monica convinced this relationship was going nowhere. "Look, Jason, I think it's best we not see each other anymore?"

The grin fell from his face. "What?"

"It's just not working out." She tried softening her voice. "Sorry. I'm just not in the mood to be dating anyone right now."

"But... but what about my lucky shirt? I left it at your place, remember?"

How could she forget. Some awful tie-dye thing. "I'll mail it to you."

"Mail my lucky shirt?" He stood up. "They'll ruin it! Or lose it. I need it now, man."

Monica rolled her eyes. "Go bother Chandler. He can let you into my place. Tell him I said it was fine."

"Chandler?"

"The guy who lives across the hallway from me."

"Oh, the actor dude."

"No, the other guy." This wasn't exactly how Monica was expecting the breakup to go. "Look, either of them can help you."

"What about your hot roommate?"

"She's not there," Monica said testily. "Look, if you want to wait until tomorrow-"

"No, man, it's my lucky shirt." He moved away, stopped, looked over his shoulder. "See ya, Monica."

"Goodbye, Jason."

After he'd left, Monica ordered another beer. She sipped it, looking around the bar. She'd been expecting to go out dancing or something. It hadn't been her plan to break up with Jason. Something about seeing the pain that Ross was in, though, made her realize how pointless it was to date someone she wasn't really attracted to.

Of course, who had she really been attracted to? Kip, of course. Chandler way back when, before the whole "fat sister" thing. Few others. The most serious relationship she'd had since Kip was Bobby, and even then, she'd known it was only a temporary fling.

She smiled bitterly. The Geller siblings. One struggling in an unhappy marriage. The other unable to attract decent people at all. Poor Mom and Dad; they might have to wait a long while until they had grandchildren.

Monica wrenched her mind from self-pitying thoughts and thought about what she might say to Carol. Her sister-in-law had kept a careful, measured distance between them. Something about Monica being too close to Ross, and being afraid to get Monica hurt by association. Monica was determined to close that distance. She liked Carol tremendously. And whatever trouble she was facing, Monica was going to force Carol to get over it and move on.

After an hour or two of thought, Monica paid for her beers and left. She considered going for a walk, but decided she was too emotionally spent. Getting to bed early might be just the thing.

She made her way home. The apartment was dark as she entered, but she did hear Phoebe, in her bedroom, obviously with a man. Evidently she'd come home early from her grandmother's. And just as obviously had somehow hooked up with a guy along the way. Monica shook her head; Phoebe was a lot freer with her sexuality than Monica truly felt comfortable with. Surely she was going to have to face some kind of dire consequences eventually. Monica kept her eyes away from the bead-covered entrance to Phoebe's bedroom and slipped inside her own room.

Monica changed into her pajamas and climbed into bed. Immediately her mind began drifting off, as her thoughts moved lazily from turkeys to tie-dyed shirts. Something about that last thing bothered her, but she fell asleep before she could figure out what.

* * *

(to be continued)


	30. Monica and her Sister in Law, Again

Monica woke up to the mumbling of voices. Groggily she remembered that Phoebe'd had someone in her room last night. Probably having breakfast. Monica got up, put on her robe, barking her shin on the footboard in the process. She groaned and tried to massage out the pain. 

The voices outside spoke more quickly. Just as Monica was opening her bedroom door, the front door of the apartment was being opened. Before Monica could register anything, the front door had been shut again and Phoebe was leaning against it, facing Monica with wide eyes.

Monica grunted. Phoebe had esoteric tastes when it came to men, and Monica was sometimes quite surprised by the people she'd shared breakfasts with. This was the first time, however, Phoebe had felt the need to hide who it was she was sleeping with. Just as well, though; Monica was in no mood to deal with weirdness.

She opened the refrigerator, vaguely thinking of yogurt for breakfast, and frowned. Something was amiss. She looked over at Phoebe. "Did you eat the spaghetti?"

Phoebe blushed slightly. She glanced briefly into the living room, then back at Monica. "Yes, I warmed it up late last night. For me."

"Oh." Monica tried to kick her mind in gear, wondering why Phoebe seemed so jumpy this morning. She shrugged it off and pulled out a pint of cherry yogurt. That would do.

Phoebe had already fixed some coffee so Monica poured herself a cup of that as well. As she sat down, Phoebe asked, "Aren't you up early?"

"A little." Monica glanced at the clock. "I wanted to clean the apartment before my sister-in-law stops by."

"Oh." Phoebe sat down at the table and seemed to relax slightly. "How are things with her and Ross?"

"Not good." Monica sighed. "I wish..."

"Wish what?"

"I don't know. I just wish things could be good."

Phoebe nodded. "Sometimes getting married isn't good. Sometimes it can be a big mistake."

"Maybe." She had no intention of getting married as young as Ross had. She smiled slightly at Phoebe. "Good thing neither one of us is married, huh?"

Phoebe blushed again. "Yeah, good thing," she mumbled.

Monica shook her head slightly as she dove into her yogurt. What was wrong with Phoebe today? Every subject seemed to make her upset. Monica had no time for it, not today. Phoebe could be a very entertaining conversationalist, but sometimes Monica yearned for a more sober and stable woman friend to talk with.

She finished her yogurt and stood up. "Please clean up after your plants before you leave for work, okay?"

Phoebe nodded.

"And is there something you can do to keep the beads from clicking all the time?"

"Uh... like what? Wrap them in felt?"

Fair question, actually. Monica sighed. "Just do what you can." She washed up after herself, then went into the bathroom to take a shower.

Feeling better, she put on a robe and walked out into the room. Joey was sitting at the kitchen table, eating cereal and reading the paper. He looked up at her and grinned. "Hey, need help drying anything?"

"Oh, Joey." She scowled at him.

He simply responded by widening his grin. In the past few weeks he had begun feeling comfortable enough to tease her, which was good because she liked Joey. On the other hand, she wished he wasn't so single-minded sometimes. Fortunately he did seem to have an uncanny sense of knowing exactly when to back off. Like now, for instance, when he looked down at the paper and said in a conversational tone of voice, "Thanksgiving is next week. Do you know if you can see the parade good from the roof here?"

"Not really. It's on the other side of the park. Sometimes you can see the balloons." Monica paused on the threshold of her bedroom door. She'd spent almost no time alone with Joey since the lemonade incident. She decided to try an experimental, "Are you spending Thanksgiving here, then?"

"Nah, going to my folks' place. Was thinking of inviting my sisters here to watch the parade, though, if the view was good."

"Oh. Well, honestly, television gives you a better view than the roof."

"All right. Was just a thought." Joey put the paper down. "What about you?"

Monica hesitated, then padded back to the kitchen and sat opposite Joey. "Well, Ross and I are going to visit our parents, too."

"Where do they live?"

"Uh, upstate a bit."

"Ah. So, rich are they?"

"Not everyone who lives upstate is rich."

"That means they are, doesn't it?"

"Uh..." Monica wasn't sure how to put it. Her parents weren't millionaires by any means, but they were probably quite wealthy compared to Joey's working-class parents. "They do all right. But not so all right that I got a trust fund or anything. The only money I have is what I make at the restaurant."

"Good." Joey smiled at her. "Money you make with your own hands is always the best kind. Of course, if someone were to drop a billion dollars on my head, I wouldn't complain too loudly."

Monica smiled back, enjoying this. They talked for a while, Monica probing a bit more about Joey's upbringing, his family, his early efforts to break away and pursue acting. He seemed to manage it without totally alienating either of his parents.

It wasn't until Joey stood up to wash out his bowl that Monica looked over at the clock. Her eyes widened; she'd wasted all the time she'd planned on cleaning, and she wasn't even dressed yet. Quickly she ran into the bedroom, ignoring Joey's slightly puzzled expression.

She was deep inside her closet when she heard the intercom buzz. Monica stuck her head outside and heard Joey answer it. Relieved, she plunged back inside, selected some slacks and a blouse, then stumbled back out into the bedroom. From there she heard Joey say something that ended in "...doing?"

"I'm doing well, thank you." Carol's voice was as friendly and vivacious as Monica had ever remembered, which might be a good sign.

"Uh..." Joey didn't seem to know how to respond to that, which seemed odd. "Monica's getting dressed, I'm sure she'll be right out. Make yourself at home."

"Thank you."

"I'm sorry, I kinda missed what your name was on the intercom."

"Carol."

"Joey. That is some really nice hair you have there."

"You're very kind. I see you put a lot of work into your hair as well."

"Uh, yeah." The odd tone to Joey's voice, which had nearly disappeared, now came back in full force. "I, uh, mousse it sometimes."

"Well, it looks magnificent, I must say. Are you a model?"

"An actor. Well, trying to be."

"Good. Good for you. I hope you do well."

"Th-thanks. Are, are you a co-worker of Monica's?"

"No, I'm her sister-in-law."

"Sister-in-law. Sister-in-law?" Joey's voice rose slightly in register. "That, that means you're Ross's, Ross's, uh, hey, great to finally meet you!"

Monica finally finished dressing and burst out into the living room. "Hi, Carol."

Carol was seated at the kitchen table. Joey was standing next to the refrigerator with a slightly panicked look on his face. They both looked over at Monica. Carol smiled widely. "Hello, Monica, it's so good to see you again."

Monica fixed Joey with a look. "Joey, I see you've met Ross's wife, Carol."

"Uh, yeah, yes I have." Joey looked flustered. "Well, you two probably have a lot to do, I'll just get out of your way. Nice, nice to meet you, Ross's wife."

Carol laughed. "Please do call me Carol."

"Uh, right." Joey grinned weakly, then beat a hasty retreat out the door.

Monica shook her head slightly. "Sorry about that."

"Oh, don't be, he's quite handsome in his own way." Carol grinned. "Your boyfriend?"

"Oh my no. Didn't Ross tell you about the lemonade?"

"Oh, that was him? Chandler's new roommate?"

"The one and only Joey." Monica moved into the kitchen. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Sure."

Monica began preparing some. "Thanks for coming over."

"You're welcome. And thank you."

"For what?"

"For caring enough about your brother to try and save his marriage."

Monica stopped in the midst of measuring a scoop of coffee. "Was I that obvious?"

"Not you. Ross. He mentioned you might be calling me."

"Oh." Score one for Ross's inability to handle his own problems without becoming a complete buffoon. Monica continued making the coffee. "I just wanted to know if I could help you."

"I, I appreciate the offer, but-"

"No, I'm not going to accept that." Monica put the pot in place and turned around to face Carol. "Yes, I'm your husband's brother, but as you pointed out to Joey, I'm also your sister-in-law. I want to see you both happy. So tell me right now what it is that is bothering you. Let me help."

Carol bit her lip and looked down at the table. "I, I hear what you have to say, but... but the truth is, I don't know. Talking with you isn't going to change that."

Well, that hadn't worked. Monica considered Carol as the smell of hot coffee began to fill the kitchen. She had imagined this being easier. When the coffee was done she poured two cups and placed them on the table. Carol took one cup in her hands and blew on the surface to cool it, but didn't actually take a sip.

Monica took two good swallows, relishing the heat spreading down her chest. Then she looked back at Carol. "Look, just get over it. Whatever it is. If you can't figure it out after all this time, then it has to be nothing important. Maybe you're just hung up over thinking it has to be something wrong with you and Ross, when it fact there's nothing at all wrong with either of you."

"There has to be." Carol looked up, pain evident in her eyes. "There truly has to be something wrong. Don't you see? I... I wouldn't be so miserable if there wasn't something wrong."

"Nuh-uh." Monica put her coffee cup down, took the cup out of Carol's hand and also set it on the table, then grabbed Carol's hands in her own. "Try this, I mean really try this. There's nothing that either of you is doing wrong. You're both intelligent, fun-loving people who enjoy each other's company. Accept that, and accept that there is nothing fundamentally wrong with either of you, and you'll be happy. I guarantee it."

Carol was a little wide-eyed. Her gaze kept moving from Monica's face back down to their clasped hands. "Nothing... it's... it's not wrong..."

She leaned a little forward, as if about to whisper something. Monica leaned forward as well, turning her head slightly so she could listen a little better. Carol leaned in a little more, and Monica matched her until their faces were only a few inches apart.

"Oh my." Carol released her grip and stood up. "Oh no. Monica, I... I have to go."

"So soon?" Monica rose to her feet as Carol hastily backed away to the door. "Did I help?"

"I, I don't know, I..." Carol opened the front door. "Maybe you did. I, I have to think... think things through."

The door closed. Monica frowned at the air where Carol used to be. Something had happened there. What, exactly, Monica wasn't sure. Hopefully it would help Ross.

The door opened again. "Hey, did she leave?"

"Yes." Monica snapped her focus back on Joey. "It was only a short visit."

"Well, I hope it was fun." Joey stepped inside, wandered over to the refrigerator and opened it. "Mind if I have some of that coffee?" he asked as he reached in for some bread.

"Didn't you just eat?" Monica emptied out the cups she and Carol had been using. "And don't you have anywhere to be today?"

"There's some tryouts for a play later this afternoon. That's why I need a sandwich, to build my confidence."

"Whatever. Just try not to make a mess."

"I won't." Joey, having extracted what looked like half the contents of the refrigerator, now began assembling a monstrous creation. Monica eyed it warily but refrained from comment.

"Does Ross know?"

Monica blinked. "Know what?"

"That his wife's a lesbian."

Monica's jaw dropped open. "What gave you that idea?"

"Because she didn't... respond to me."

"Respond? You mean, she didn't fall all over you just because you said hello?"

"Well, kinda." Joey sounded defensive now. "All women do."

"They do not!"

Joey looked her right in the eye. "You did."

Monica blushed slightly. "Okay, but I'm not married. Carol is."

"Doesn't matter." Joey put his sandwich on a plate and carried it to the kitchen table. "Even married women want a little something of Joey. I mean, they don't act on it - sometimes - but I can tell that they want to. Carol, there was... nothing. Nothing at all."

"So that means she's a lesbian?"

"They're the only kind of women that don't find me hot."

"Oh God, Joey." Monica rolled her eyes. "Your ego is way too big for your own good."

"Hey, it's the truth!" Joey took a big bite of his sandwich, then continued talking as he chewed. "I can't help being so gosh-darned attractive to women."

Monica looked at the mayonnaise which now covered a good portion of Joey's upper lip and gave up. "Look, just don't mention that to Ross, okay? He's got enough problems to worry about besides your wild theories that only lesbians can't possibly find you attractive."

"Okay," Joey said with obvious reluctance. "Okay, maybe you're right and Carol just caught me in some bad lighting. You all know her better than me anyway."

"Good," Monica said with some relief. She turned and examined the living room to plan her long-delayed cleaning for the day.

Suddenly the image of Carol leaning in towards her flashed through Monica's mine. She shook her head slightly and dismissed the image. Joey's self-involved weirdness was getting to her, that's all. Monica walked towards the closet to extract the things she would need to clean up everything.

* * *

(to be continued) 


	31. Monica and Thanksgiving 1992

Monica cast a critical eye over everything she had gathered. A staggering array of ingredients were spread all over the kitchen counter, and still she had the notion she was missing something. 

The rustling of beads informed her that Phoebe was finally up and about. She looked over her shoulder and frowned. "Where are you taking that?"

Phoebe had her stereo in her arms. She looked at Monica and blushed slightly. "I, I, I'm taking it to be rewired."

Monica frowned. "On Thanksgiving?"

"Uh, well, there's a guy who lives next to my grandmother who's, like, really good with this stuff, so, so I thought when I went over to visit her today I'd drop it off with him and, like, see if he could fix the, the wires."

"Oh." Monica turned back towards the ingredients. "Try not to scratch any of the wood while you're taking it out. Celery seeds."

"What?"

"What happened to my celery seeds?"

"Oh, uh, I think Chandler and Joey were using them to make pictures on the surface of their tomato soup."

Monica looked back at Phoebe with a puzzled look. "What?"

"Well, it was funny at the time."

"Oh, ha ha. I've got a turkey and stuffing to prepare in the next few hours and it's just so funny that they're trying to ruin it. I'm laughing, really." Monica grabbed her coat. "I'm going to the store. Don't let them touch anything."

"Uh, sure."

Monica moved briskly out into the street. With luck the corner store would still be open. And would have what she needed. Stupid Chandler. He and Joey had become increasingly silly as time went by, each reinforcing the other in a never-ending spiral of immaturity. It was extremely annoying. And, Monica forced herself to admit, quite funny at times.

But this was Thanksgiving. This was important.

The store was open, and surprisingly crowded. Monica maneuvered her way through the narrow aisles to the spice section where, fortunately, exactly one bottle of celery seeds was available. She grabbed it, then waited an impatient fifteen minutes in line.

Monica jogged down the street. So much to do. So much that had to be done right. And this day was getting off to exactly the wrong start. Curse Chandler.

She slipped on some wet pavement rounding a corner too quickly, and scraped the palm of her hands breaking her fall. Monica cursed as she saw the blood begin to well. If only she'd been wearing her gloves, this would not have happened. She'd been in too much of a hurry leaving the apartment.

Picking herself up, Monica hurried along the street. Soon enough, the apartment building loomed and she almost ran inside.

Monica opened the door, shrugged out of her coat, and blinked. Phoebe was leaning in a too-casual manner on the kitchen table. Clearly she was trying to hide something. Monica looked down at the turkey, and it was all too obvious that someone was bent forward at the waist and had their head stuck inside the turkey.

"Oh my God." Red exploded behind Monica's eyeballs. "Oh my God! Who is that?"

The turkey arose. "It's Joey," said a plaintive and somewhat frightened voice.

"What are you doing!" Monica rushed up to him, wanting to throttle him. "Was this supposed to be funny?"

"No," Phoebe said in a gentle, placating manner. "It's supposed to be scary."

Monica glared at Phoebe, then decided unpremeditated homicide could wait. "Well, get it off, now!"

"I can't." Joey was almost quivering in fear. "It's stuck."

"That turkey," Monica said angrily, "has to feed twenty people at my parent's house, and they are not going to eat it off your head."

Monica gathered herself, forced her voice down a level. "Okay. Phoebe, pull. I'm going to spread the legs as wide as I can."

Joey, showing remarkable resiliency, began laughing.

Monica gritted her teeth. "Joey, now is not the time."

"Sorry." He sounded as if he meant it.

"All right, on three."

Phoebe tried to pull the turkey off, but her hands slipped off the still-raw turkey. Joey stumbled towards the front door, just in time to run into Chandler, just entering. Chandler let out a started yelp.

"Aha!" Joey turned the wrong way and pointed at an imaginary Chandler. "I scared you, I knew it!"

Chandler had recovered quickly. "I'm over here, big guy."

"Yeah you are!" Joey whirled, again facing the wrong way.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it." Monica stepped forward, grabbed Chandler's hands, put them on the turkey. "When I count three, pull, and I mean hard mister. I'm going to spread the legs as far as I can so hopefully Joey will pop out. DON'T YOU DARE SAY ANYTHING, BING!"

Chandler quickly snapped his mouth shut. He nodded, his eyes still dancing amusement.

Monica growled and counted. This time Joey's head came clear.

Grabbing the turkey, Monica ran to the kitchen. She tried her best to clean out the cavity with cold water. She noticed that her palms were still bleeding slightly and cursed under her breath. Monica washed her hand quickly, then scoured the outside of the turkey as well.

Chandler, meanwhile, was talking to Joey. "So that was supposed to scare me?"

"It worked, didn't it?"

"No, the two-hundred-pound man about to fall on me scared me."

"One-eighty-five, doofus."

"Maybe before you started hoovering up Monica's refrigerator on a daily basis."

"I work it off. In ways you never do, Mr. Lonelybed!"

"Five minutes a day is not exactly a strenuous workout?"

"Five minutes? I've never been quick. Time me next time."

"Oh, it will be the highlight of my night, to take a stopwatch to your sexual activities. What do I get if-"

"Shut up, shut up both of you!" Monica decided the turkey was as clean as it was ever going to be and shut off the faucet. "Are you trying to ruin my life?"

"Uh... no, no we aren't." Chandler took a step into the kitchen. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Yes. Stay out of my way." Monica glared at Chandler until he stepped back out of the kitchen.

Monica lost herself in the preparation of the stuffing. It was not often that she did this - shut out the rest of the world to focus solely on her cooking. Normally she enjoyed being a part of the inane banter that flew about the room. But just now everyone else was making her extremely annoyed, and if she was going to be able to get this done correctly, she needed to ignore them as much as possible. Fortunately they seemed involved in the newly-formed tradition of jeering at the Thanksgiving Parade on television.

After she had the stuffing inside the turkey she put it in the oven and monitored it intensely through the oven window. It was a struggle not to open the door every two minutes to baste the turkey again; patience was required. And right now, Monica was not a patient woman.

Monica succeeded so well at blanking everything else out that when Ross opened the refrigerator door to grab a bottle of water she blinked at him in surprise. "Hey, hi."

"Hi." He eyed the turkey. "Is that going to be ready in time?"

Monica glanced up at the clock, studied the turkey, and frowned. "Yes. Maybe. It will. It will be perfect." She looked around. "Where's Carol?"

"Renting a car. We figured that would be a lot easier for you and the turkey."

It would be. Monica smiled, her first real smile of the day. "It will be. Thanks."

"You're welcome, but it was Carol's idea."

"She's, she's a very thoughtful woman." Monica eyed Ross for a second, trying to gauge his mood. "How's it going with you two?"

Ross sighed and smiled slightly. "Trying to prepare me for Mom?"

Monica chuckled. "Oh come on. As far as Mom's concerned, you two are the perfect couple."

"Well, she's begun to question why we aren't having children. And, and my answers are sounding more and more forced, even to me."

"Ah." That did sound like her mother. And Ross. "So, what answer will you give her?"

Ross shrugged. "Better. I think it's going better. Carol joined a new gym, and she seems particularly... energetic when she gets back from there."

"Energetic?" Monica had trouble picturing that; Carol was usually so calm and cool.

"Energetic, y'know." Ross blushed slightly. "She, she's more..."

"She's displaying the kind of energy that might produce the grandchildren your mother wants her to have," Chandler called from the living room.

Monica frowned at Chandler, who was still facing the television, enduring the amused looks of Phoebe and Joey. "Thanks, Bing," she called out acerbically.

"You're welcome. Let me know if you want any more help translating Rossese."

Monica speared Chandler with a look, which of course was wasted on the back of his head. She let out an annoyed breath and looked back up at Ross, who looked a little embarrassed and, perhaps, a little proud. For the first time ever, Monica wondered exactly how healthy a sex life Ross and Carol had. Evidently it hadn't been as... eventful as Monica had always assumed. And just as evidently it had recently taken a turn for the better.

So much for Joey's theory. Monica allowed herself to smile again. "Well, I'm glad for you guys."

"Thanks. Shouldn't, shouldn't you be basting that?"

Monica rolled her eyes. "Do I tell you how to dig dinosaur bones?" Nevertheless, she opened up the oven to quickly baste the turkey. It had been long enough.

While she did this, everyone in the living room stood up and moved towards the front door. When Monica looked up, Joey was putting on his coat while Phoebe, her coat already on, was gathering up her stereo. Monica smiled. "Have a good Thanksgiving, guys."

"Thanks, Mon." Joey grinned at her while holding the door open. Phoebe shot Monica a strangely furtive look before smiling weakly and carrying the stereo out the door.

Chandler lingered after the others had left. "So, Monica, not to be a mensch or anything, but... did you happen to make any mac and cheese?"

Monica looked at him curiously. "Why would that make you a mensch?"

"Er... doesn't that mean I'm nosy and obnoxious?"

"Jeeze, Chandler..." Monica shook her head. "If you're going to throw Yiddish at me, learn the proper terms."

Ross nodded. "I think you're fahklumpt."

"Fuh-what?"

"A shlemiel."

"Er, that thing they say before the opening song on Laverne and Shirley?"

"And a shagetz."

"Hey, you leave my mother out of this!"

Monica laughed. "He just said you're not Jewish."

"Well, I thought that would be obvious by now!" Chandler threw his hands up in surrender. "What's Yiddish for 'Where's my dinner?'"

"Here." Monica opened up the refrigerator, pulled out a casserole dish. "Put in the oven at 350 for an hour."

"Thanks." Chandler smiled.

Monica smiled. "Have fun fressing."

Chandler eyed her uncertainly. "How about a new rule: English only?"

"Fair enough." Monica sat back down, peering through the oven door. "It annoyed Kip, too. I think he preferred to think of me as non-ethnic."

"Ugh, you're comparing me to him? I must have really made you mad."

"Nah. I know it doesn't really bother you. With Kip it was different."

"I guess that explains why he married a Southern Baptist."

Monica looked up, blinked rapidly. "He what?"

A very pained expression crossed Chandler's face and he swore silently. Monica looked over at Ross, who was shaking his head in disgust at Chandler. Monica thinned her lips and glared back at Chandler. "When did he get married?"

"About a week after he moved out," Chandler said reluctantly. "That's kinda why I let him hang around so long. He had wedding plans and it seemed wrong to make him have to find a new place to live in the middle of all that."

"Oh." Monica did some math in her head. "Which means, either he met and proposed to her very quickly, or... or he has dating her at the same time he was dating me."

"Mon." Ross gently cut in before Chandler could answer. "Trust me, Chandler didn't know Kip was dating anyone else while he was dating you. If he had, he would have told you. He only found out a while after, when he asked Kip to move out."

Monica considered Ross for a moment, then Chandler. She turned back towards the oven, opened it up, and basted the turkey again. "It's fine."

"Monica..." Chandler began.

"It's fine!" Monica slammed the oven door closed. "Can we not talk about it, please?"

"Uh, sure. I'm sorry I brought it up." Chandler did, in fact, sound very much in distress.

"Don't worry about it." Monica stared at the turkey through the oven window, trying to judge how much longer it would be. Thirty minutes, maybe. "Just remember, 350 for an hour. That's all you need to know."

"Right." She heard Chandler take a step into the kitchen, and then a hand was on her shoulder, applying a soft pressure. Monica clenched her jaw and had to suppress an urge to grab his wrist and break it. After a few seconds she forced herself to relax. Monica reached up, took Chandler's hand from her shoulder and clasped it in hers, squeezed gently, then released her grip.

Chandler said nothing more. He walked out of the apartment, taking the macaroni and cheese with him.

Ross was still standing behind her, shifting uncomfortably. "Listen, Moninca-"

"Be quiet, Ross." She looked up at him. "Just help me get through this day, all right? There's too much stupid stuff that's happened already, and we're not even back home yet. I want this turkey to be perfect, I want everyone to enjoy it, and I don't want to give Mom any more ammunition than she already has. Is that too much to ask?"

"Of, of course not."

"Good." Monica drew a deep breath and stood up. God, give me strength. "I'm going to go change. Watch the turkey and make sure nothing happens to it, all right?"

"All right."

Monica strode into her bedroom and shut the door. She pinched the bridge of her nose in an effort to keep from crying. It worked, and in a moment she was able to put both her clothes and a confident face and hoped that wearing both would allow her to escape the rest of the day unscarred.

* * *

(to be continued)

* * *


	32. Monica in the Park

Monica walked into the living room like a woman with a mission. Her irritation was high as she said to the tall blonde that was watering the plants, "I'm sorry that I left lipstick marks on the phone." 

Phoebe frowned slightly. "You don't leave lipstick marks on the phone."

"Oh. Must've been you then." She let the words sink in for a second before turning her attention to Ross, who was sitting on the couch reading a magazine. "Hey. You coming?"

Ross had been looking at Phoebe but shifted his attention to Monica. "Coming? Where?"

"We're supposed to meet Chandler and Joey in Central Park, remember?"

"Oh, that's today? Let me finish this article. Five minutes." He looked back down at his magazine.

Monica's eyes shifted to the coffee table. "Ross. Feet on the floor or come over no more."

Ross shot her a look that she was totally not in the mood for. With a surly air he withdrew his feet.

Monica nodded in satisfaction before turning to Phoebe. "Care to join us?"

"No." Phoebe's voice was tending towards flat, indicating her own level of irritation. "I'm going to go visit my grandmother later."

"Oh, okay." Strange; Phoebe usually jumped at the chance to spend time with Joey. Monica wondered, not for the first time, why Phoebe didn't make a more overt move towards Joey. One thing Phoebe was not lacking was aggressiveness towards men she found attractive. Maybe she had reasons similar to what Joey had told Chandler about why he wasn't going after Phoebe.

Monica was on the verge of asking when she remembered Ross was here. This was not a conversation to be held in front of any of the guys. Monica moved towards the bathroom to quickly freshen up, along the way trying to think of the last time she'd had a real heart-to-heart with Phoebe. It had been too long, it seemed. She'd have to rectify that.

Ross was up and waiting and when Monica got out. He and Phoebe had their mouths firmly shut, which led Monica to believe they'd been talking about her. Fighting down an urge to make a sarcastic comment, she merely gestured Ross towards the door. They put on their coats and braved the January weather.

Which actually wasn't so bad, Monica decided. It was cold but not windy, for a change. Perhaps she could get through Central Park without freezing her face off.

Ross strode beside her, his longer stride perfectly matching her faster pace. "So, what's Joey doing in Central Park?"

"Trying out for a play. Some children's thing.

"Oh, that's nice. Which part?"

"I think he was trying out for... uh, what's the old guy's name in Pinocchio?"

"Geppetto."

"That's it."

"He's a little young to be playing that part, isn't he?"

"What, you never heard of makeup?" Monica abruptly stopped.

Momentum carried Ross two steps ahead before he could stop. "What is it?"

Monica was reading something written in very fine print on a plate glass window. Her mouth moved silently as she tried to puzzle out the legalese.

Ross came up beside her. "What?"

"I think... I think they're closing the bar."

"They're what?" Ross peered at what she was reading.

"This is a building permit. Looks like they're remodeling the whole thing and reopening it under a different name." She pointed.

Ross followed her finger and shook his head. "What a stupid name."

"Yeah. Sounds like a coffee shop."

"Oh great. It's not like the city doesn't already have ten thousand of those things already." Ross sighed. "Well, it's not like we went here a lot anyway."

"Yeah." Still, it had been close and convenient for those times she'd felt like swigging beer and shooting pool. "We still have a couple of weeks before they begin, it looks like. I may go back one more time for auld lang syne."

"I won't," Ross said firmly. "I hate the yuppinization of everything around here."

Monica looked up at Ross with amusement as they resumed their trek. "But... you're a yuppie."

"Am not!" Ross paused for a moment. "Okay, I am a little, in the broadest sense of the term. But don't forget, I was in a college band."

"Ah yes, the least-heard college band in all of New York."

"It wasn't how many that heard us, it was how much those who did appreciated-"

"Yes, yes. You should take pride in how counter-culture you and Chandler were."

"Thank you."

Monica smiled. "Because trust me, no one else ever did."

Ross grunted, half in irritation, half in amusement. "Okay, it perhaps wasn't the babe magnet Chandler and I were hoping for. But it got me Carol."

"You met Carol in one of your classes, not at one of your band gigs. In fact, I think I had to beg you not to take her to one of those until like the tenth date at least."

"Good thing I didn't listen to you."

"Which date did it end up being?"

"Um... the seventh."

Monica chuckled. "You sure showed me."

"Well... truly, I think she enjoyed it because I enjoyed it. We were, we were really in sync back in those days, we loved everything about each other."

Hmm. Monica tried to think back to her relationships, wondering if she'd ever felt that way about anyone. Even at her most infatuated with Kip, she'd still found things about him that annoyed her. Either she was more discerning than Ross was, or she had yet to fall as deeply in love as Ross and Carol had. Or had been, anyway.

They entered the park. The theater that Joey's audition was being held in was on the far side of the park; the plan was to meet at the zoo. Monica was already scanning the crowd as they approached, Central Park bustling with weekend people even in January.

Her eyes fell on Chandler and she brightened immediately. "There they are."

Ross saw and waved. As they approached, it was quite obvious that Joey was very happy. Monica felt her smile widening as they came within hearing distance. "Did it go well?"

"It went awesome!" Joey was positively gushing. "They really liked me, they kept talking and whispering. The assistant director, she said they have one more audition tomorrow, but unless they see something really special, I'm in!"

"That's terrific." Ross grinned. "A real part in a real play, right in Central Park."

Joey nodded enthusiastically. "And even outdoors once the weather warms up. Which is good, because I'd hate to wear those shorts in this weather."

Shorts? As fast as Monica could remember, Geppetto didn't wear shorts. Did he? "Remind me, which part was it?"

Joey thrust his chest out. "The lead, of course."

"Pinocchio?"

"That's the one. Pinocchio, starring Joey Tribbiani."

"Sounds great," Ross said before Monica could voice an objection. "Will your name be on the marquee?"

"Er... I don't think so." Joey frowned, thinking. "The marquee they have now for Snow White doesn't list any actors. But it'll be all over the program."

By now Monica had managed to swallow her opinions. Sure, Joey was way too big and tall to play a boy puppet. But he had a child's enthusiasm, and that would go over quite well with the kids who saw the play. Monica looked at Chandler. "What do you think? Did he blow away the competition?"

"I don't know, I wasn't there. They didn't let me watch, so I had to hang around the park."

Monica found herself focusing more and more on Chandler. There was something about the way he talked... short, without his normal liveliness. And come to think of it, even if she had some tact and discretion about criticizing Joey's potential new part, Chandler usually showed no such restraint. "What's wrong?" she found herself asking.

Joey grunted and lightly slapped the side of Chandler's head. "Idiot got himself bitten."

"Bitten?" Monica found her eyes roving over every visible part of Chandler, which in this weather wasn't much. "Where? How? By what?"

Gritting his teeth, Chandler gingerly pulled off one glowed. His fingers were free and clear, but the whole rest of his hand was covered with several layers of white gauze.

Monica took a quick step forward and grabbed Chandler's hand in both of hers, studying it minutely. "Oh my God. Does it hurt?"

"Only when you do that," Chandler murmured.

Monica eased the pressure of her grip but still held on. "How'd this happen?"

Chandler sighed. "I swear, I thought it was a petting zoo."

"They were cleaning out the peacock cage in the tropical exhibit," Joey clarified. "One of the zookeepers left the door open, and Chandler decided to wander right in."

"They looked friendly. Until the one decided I was offering my hand as a tasty appetizer." Chandler winced. "I'm never watching NBC again."

"It's not bad," Joey said. "They stitched it up right there at the zoo, gave him some antibiotics. He'll be fine in a week or two."

"Not bad!" Monica leaned down a little, studying what she could see of Chandler's hand, looking for streaks of purple or red that might indicate an infection. "He could get rabies, the thing could fester, he might-"

"I'm fine." Chandler firmly extracted his hand from her grip. Surprised, Monica looked up at him. He stared her right in the eyes as he said, "What's important is that Joey got a great part in a great play. What I did when I tried to play Doctor Doolittle isn't worth talking about."

Seeing the intensity in Chandler's eyes, understanding dawned in Monica. Chandler wanted the focus to be completely on Joey. Getting this part was very important to Joey, who by his own admission had been struggling mightily as an actor. Chandler was going to do everything he could to make certain his misadventure didn't steal Joey's thunder.

Ross seemed to pick up on this too. "I can't get over how great this is, Joey. Now you have to show us your audition. I want to see the stunning performance that won them over."

"Sure!" The happiness returned full force in Joey. He took a step back and screwed up his face, showing some deep, unspecified emotion. "Romeo, Romeo..."

Monica kept her eyes on Chandler's face a moment longer as he put his glove back on. The man continued to astound her, showing surprising moments of maturity and understanding amidst all his silliness. Joey probably had no idea how lucky he was to have Chandler as a roommate.

And, Monica said to herself, perhaps she didn't quite realize how lucky she was to have Chandler as a neighbor.

Monica turned her attention to Joey as he continued his prepared speech, and basked in his undiluted joy.

* * *

(to be continued) 


	33. Monica and the Bar

Monica pushed the door open and looked around, already feeling sad. So many familiar things about this place, and it would all be gone in a couple of days. 

The person following her sighed heavily. "Tell me again why we're here?"

"We're here to have a good time," Monica said firmly. "Don't start complaining, Chandler."

"But I was having a good time at home," Chandler said despite her warning. "Sitting in front of the television not moving brings a level of contentment I'll never find in this place."

"Yeah, well, give it a try." She hung up her coat and walked over to the bar. Terry was bartending, which surprised her slightly since he was the owner. Probably an indication of his financial troubles. "Two bottles, please."

Terry looked up and gave her a small tired smile. "Five-fifty."

She put seven dollars on the bar as he handed her the beer. "Is it true you're turning this into a coffee shop?"

Terry nodded somberly. "Visit us in six weeks, we'll be ready then. I have an interior decorator with some interesting ideas for the design of the place. I think you'll like it."

"Maybe." Monica handed one of the bottles to Chandler as he walked up. "I like the way it is now, though. Were you just not making enough money?"

"Liquor's expensive. Coffee's not so much. Excuse me." Terry moved off to another customer that was demanding his attention.

Monica sighed. "Well, that sucks."

"Does it ever." Chandler took a swig. "Where are we going to hang out now?"

"No idea." Monica looked around the bar. "Hey, the pool table's free. Rack 'em up, I'll be back in a minute. Get ready for me to whip your butt."

"Okay, but after that we're shooting some pool."

Monica smiled at him and found her way to the bathroom. She looked around, finding nostalgia even here. She sighed.

As she was washing up, Monica looked in the mirror. She'd put some effort into her appearance tonight even though it was only Chandler. Somewhere in the back of her mind had been the romantic notion that this would be a special night, that she'd find the man of her dreams on this, the last time she'd ever visit this bar. He'd sweep her off her feet and carry her away. It had been years since she'd had such fantasies; she wondered what their return meant. She hadn't made much of an effort recently to date. That needed to change.

Monica pushed herself away from the mirror and left the bathroom. Idly her eyes wandered around the bar, noting that there were more patrons than usual. Perhaps this was good, perhaps the bar could be saved after all. She walked up to Chandler, who was tossing the cue ball back and forth between his hands and looking slightly flushed. Monica wondered if something had happened and decided she wasn't all that curious about it. "You didn't rack the balls."

"Right. Sorry." Chandler didn't look at her, instead keeping his eyes fixed on a group of women in the back of the bar.

Monica smiled slightly as Chandler forcibly wrenched his eyes away and bent to the task of racking up the balls. Chandler, she noted, had dressed semi-nicely tonight - not that he ever dressed badly, really. Still, he probably had some vague fantasies of his own he'd been hoping to fulfill tonight. "So, any new women in your life?"

"Gladys moved into the cubicle across from me. She's fiftyish with two grandkids, but I think I got a shot if I can somehow maneuver her pet poodle out of the picture." Chandler lifted the rack away. "Go.

Monica laughed, lined up her shot, and let loose. "What about Joey?"

"Didn't we already go through this with Kip? You've got to try either of my parents if you want to set someone up with Joey."

"Oh, shush." Monica frowned; she'd dropped a solid on the break, but the stripes were better placed. She called them and sank her first shot. "I meant, couldn't he fix you up with someone?"

"I, er, I'm not quite sure I... I'd feel comfortable with Joey's castoffs. I mean, I'd spend every minute with her thinking, Joey didn't think she was hot enough to go to bed with, why should I be stuck with her?"

Monica tsked as she missed a bank shot. "Some of Joey's less-than-admirable qualities are rubbing off on you."

"I'll remember to feel morally repelled the next time he forgets which model he's supposed to meet for dinner." Chandler still wasn't paying much attention to the table or Monica, instead keeping his focus on the women in the back.

Monica stood next to him, following his gaze. Dressed rather nicely, a little out of place in this bar. They were chattering a thousand miles a minute and seemed oblivious to the rest of the world. Monica smiled and nudged Chandler in the ribs. "Want me to ask them over?"

"Good God, no!" Chandler looked at her in panic. "If I can't stand the thought of getting set up by my current roommate, how do you think I'd feel about getting set up by my former roommate's little sister?"

Monica shot a quick grin at him. "Well, someone has to display a sense of courage, you clearly have none whatsoever."

"I'll ask the Wizard for some the next time I'm in the Emerald City."

"You do that." For some reason, Monica also couldn't take her eyes off the women in the back. "It's your shot, by the way."

"Oh, that's why I'm holding this long wooden thing. Am I stripes or solids?"

"Solids." Monica felt her brow furrowing. There was something about the way one of the women was talking. Monica couldn't see her face, but the way she moved her hands, the way she reached out and touched one of the other women's hands when speaking to them, it seemed... familiar.

Then the women turned slightly, gesturing imperiously to a waitress, and Monica gasped. "Oh my God."

Chandler had begun to walk around the table but moved quickly back to her side. "What?"

"I know her. I went to high school with her."

"You, you did?"

"Yes. You remember, she was with us for those two Thanksgivings."

"Oh, oh her. The one Ross was so in love with."

"Yeah." Monica handed Chandler her cue stick, took a few steps towards the back of the bar. "Rachel, hi."

The woman looked up, blank surprise on her face. She was a stunningly different creature than Monica had last seen. Her hair was impossibly wavy, clearly the result of an expensive salon visit and long daily maintenance. Her makeup was heavier than Monica had ever seen, which was surprising considering how often Monica had envied her natural good looks. She exuded the smell of expensive perfume, her dress looked like it had never been worn before tonight, her jewelry sparkled even in the half-light of the bar.

No wonder Monica hadn't recognized Rachel Green at first. The girl she had grown up with was barely discernible in the package of glamour that sat in front of Monica now.

For a second it seemed as if Rachel wouldn't remember, but then she smiled. "Monica! Hi!" She seemed utterly flustered, and thrust her left hand at Monica. "Look! What do you think?"

Monica looked down, saw what was clearly an engagement ring, ostentatious beyond belief. She didn't know what to say. Monica was more than a little disappointed by Rachel's reaction. Rachel hadn't risen for a hug or even a handshake, hadn't invited Monica to sit. All she seemed to know how to do was to wave something gaudy at Monica in an effort to elicit compliments and congratulations.

For some odd reason she thought of Chandler, and that spurred her to comment, "Wow, you can't even see where the Titanic hit it."

Rachel seemed stung by the comment, which both pleased Monica and made her feel a little ashamed. Rachel babbled on. "His name is Barry, he's a doctor, thank you very much."

"Just like you always wanted." Monica forced a smile to her lips. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," Rachel said faintly. She was clearly struggling with the conversation. This was just like the phone call, Monica thought. Same topics, same awkwardness, same inability to connect. Rachel plowed on, appearing to be carried along purely by momentum rather than any desire to actually talk. "So, so how about you, are you seeing anyone?"

The last thing Monica wanted to do was bring up any of her recent trials and tribulations, not while she was standing here feeling like an intruder. "Not right now."

"Oh." Rachel frowned, spoke with apparent sympathy. "But that's okay."

"I know." Monica snapped her mouth closed before she lost her temper and said things she didn't want to say to Rachel. Good God, why had she come over here? Why had she bothered Rachel at all? She'd seen what was happening, known that Rachel didn't want her friendship anymore. And yet, she'd still held on to the faint hope that she was more than simply an embarrassment to Rachel. But clearly that wasn't true. Rachel would be happier if she could just pretend her past didn't exist, that she'd never had dumpy friends like Monica at all. Clearly every second Monica spent here was damaging Rachel's standing with her high society friends.

Time to bring this all to a close. "So, I'll get back to my friend."

Even though Monica expected the relief to appear on Rachel's face, it still hurt to see. "Sure, sure." Rachel smiled wanly.

Monica nodded and turned away.

Rachel's voice was almost a shout. "Can we please-!" Monica turned as Rachel cut herself off, swallowed, and continued in a quieter tone of voice that sounded almost plaintive. "Can we please have lunch the next time I'm in the city?"

Monica studied Rachel. For just the briefest of seconds, her glamorous veneer was stripped away, and Monica could see a woman pained by what had happened, desperate to regain contact with her childhood friend and utterly unable to figure out how to do that.

Monica breathed in, out, and responded with a smile that was surprisingly genuine. "That'd be great."

"Okay!" Rachel grinned, the old familiar grin that Monica remembered and loved.

"Thanks," Monica replied, more in gratitude for the grin than the lunch invite.

"Bye." Rachel's smile was now apologetic, and she quickly turned back to her friends and immediately launched into a discussion about something or the other; Monica didn't even try to listen.

She turned back towards the pool table, where Chandler stood, holding the cue ball again for some strange reason. He was watching her closely, and prompted, "So, how'd it go?"

Monica sighed. "Ten bucks says I never see her again."

"Oh." Chandler studied Monica for a minute. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Who knows." Monica put her cue stick on the table. "It's a life thing, I guess. It happens, your dearest friends one year are complete strangers the next."

Chandler laughed slightly bitterly. "I wouldn't know. I never had a dearest friend."

Monica paled slightly. "You... you haven't?"

"Not during my childhood. Not until I met your brother." Chandler smiled crookedly. "And you."

Relief washed through Monica. She reached out and clutched his forearm, just needing the contact, just needing to know that there was at least one person remaining in the world who liked being with her. "Let's get out of here."

"Right-o." Chandler placed the ball back on the felt and covered her hand on his forearm with his other hand, assuming a stance as if they were strolling through some English garden. "How about a walk though the park? If we're lucky we can catch the changing of the muggers."

Monica chuckled. "Lead the way."

She left the bar and Rachel behind, and knew that even if she never saw either of them again, she'd still be all right.

* * *

(to be continued) 


	34. Monica and her Roommate, Again

Monica woke up feeling terrible. Not sick - she never got sick - but, perhaps, out of sync. Like the world has five seconds ahead and she couldn't quite catch up. 

After breakfast she looked around at the apartment. Leaves on the floor from Phoebe's stupid plants. Phoebe hadn't been around as much lately, spending loads of time with her grandmother, which left Monica to take care of plants she never wanted in the first place.

The door opened and Phoebe came in. Monica frowned slightly. "Where were you? I could have fixed you breakfast."

Phoebe blushed slightly. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately. "I was out for a, a walk."

Monica glanced out the window. She had no idea what the weather forecast was supposed to be - she truly felt disconnected from the world at the moment - but it looked cold. "Well, whatever. I'm going to vacuum for a bit, if that's all right."

"Oh, uh, of course." Phoebe went into her bedroom, presumably to change.

Monica first got out the broom to do some pre-vacuuming cleanup. The leaves were swept up in short order and then she began the vacuuming. As always, her eyes constantly roamed the floor, scouting for areas that needed extra attention. She still felt out of whack and that made everything look dirty.

Phoebe came out, smiled at Monica, and sat on one of the chairs. Monica immediately tracked along the path Phoebe had just taken, searching for newly-tracked dust or dirt. As she followed the trail through the still-swaying beads and into Phoebe's room, Monica froze.

She turned off the vacuum. "Pheebs?"

Phoebe looked over, her eyes going slightly wide.

A kind of numbness was settling over Monica's brain. "Where's your bed?"

The blush reappeared on Phoebe's face. "It's not in the apartment?"

The attempt to dissemble was so obvious that Monica merely had to glare before Phoebe backed down. Phoebe sighed and looked down at her hands. "I can't believe this is happening again."

Happening again? Monica had no idea what that meant. "What?"

"I... I've..." Phoebe drew in a breath and turned her head up towards Monica. "I don't live here anymore."

Monica blinked. "What," she said as calmly as she could, "are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry." Phoebe looked terribly sad and afraid. "I, I, I don't live here anymore, and I, I didn't know how to tell you."

"So you've been... what? Taking things out of the apartment and hoping I wouldn't notice? My God." Monica blanched. "The stereo you took to your grandmother's on Thanksgiving. That's when you started?"

Phoebe seemed beyond the capacity for speech and simply nodded.

Monica felt weak and sank onto the couch. "Why?"

Phoebe swallowed and suddenly words started flowing. "Okay, okay, it's, now, Monica, just listen, I, do you know, okay, do you know, I couldn't sleep for a month because I got an ink dot on one of the sofa cushsions."

Monica repressed an urge to leap to her feet. Suddenly her throat constricted. "You, you could have just turned the cushion over."

"Well, yeah, except there was a big spaghetti stain on the other side."

"What!" Monica yelled before she could stop herself.

"See!" Phoebe sounded slightly triumphant, as if having proved a point. "This is what I'm talking about! I need to live in a land where people can spill."

Monica felt tired, all the energy being drained out of her second by second. This couldn't be really happening, could it? This wasn't really Phoebe saying those things, was it?

"Aw honey." Phoebe rose from the chair and came over to sit next to Monica. She hugged her fiercely. "It's not your fault. This, this is who you are. I love that. I love you. I want us to be friends, but if I keep living here, I don't see that happening."

Oh God. It was Phoebe. She was leaving. And there was a fundamental kernel of truth to what Phoebe was saying that Monica couldn't deny. The last few months had seen Monica's relationship with Phoebe become more and more strained. Phoebe was careless about many things, not just sofa cushions, and that just didn't fit well with the orderly way Monica wanted to live.

And yet, no matter how true it was, it still hurt to hear, to acknowledge. Monica clung to Phoebe and said, "I love you too."

They held each other a while, then separated. Monica couldn't meet Phoebe's mournful gaze and looked down at the couch.

Phoebe suddenly giggled.

Monica looked up, surprised. "What?"

Phoebe grinned. "You're wondering which cushion it is?"

A smile somehow found its way to Monica's face. "Maybe I am."

"I'll, I'll go get it cleaned, I found a place that does that." Phoebe stood up and picked up one of the cushions. Monica was slightly amused to notice that Phoebe carefully kept only one side visible. "I, I, since today's Saturday, I think I'll move the rest of my stuff out."

Monica grimaced. "Where are you staying? You're not... not..."

"Living on the street? Oh no. Never again, I hope. I'm living with my grandmother now."

Across town. Monica felt her gut twist. "Want, want me to pack anything for you?"

"Oh no, no, I've got most of the big stuff out, just the dresser and some of my clothes, I can just stuff those in a bag." Phoebe was backing towards the door. "Anyway, anyway I'll go drop this off and then go get my grandmother's cab and the rest of my stuff and, and you have my last month's rent, and, and I'll help you post flyers or anything you need, I, I hope, I hope you're all right, if you ever need any help you let me know and, and okay I'll see you later." She grabbed her coat and quickly left the apartment.

Monica just stared at the door after Phoebe closed it. Phoebe. Gone. Leaving. Leaving her.

For an hour or so she just sat there, not moving, looking at the space her roommate - her ex-roommate - had recently occupied. Her mind went around in circles, unable to focus, to think of anything.

Out. She needed out.

Monica got up, walked into her bedroom, changed into her winter jogging clothes. And then she was out, out of the apartment, onto the streets, into the park. Normally she started hard, then eased up for a while before finishing strong. This time she kept up the pace.

"Oh! Oh I'm sorry, oh!"

The first words she'd heard Phoebe say. Phoebe standing in what would turn out to be her bedroom and twirling. Phoebe flashing the first of many wide smiles, saying that she'd love to move in.

Monica deftly wove through the joggers, outpacing most of them. Her breath was already ragged and she welcomed it.

In high school, she'd joined the field hockey team because she enjoyed playing sports. Most of the other girls at the tryouts had boggled at her standing there in her gym clothes, and some had even laughed. Still, the coach put her in as goalkeeper to see how she'd do, and she'd blocked shot after shot. While she couldn't run around very well, she moved well enough and was quick enough to perform adequately.

Monica had at first been quite proud of her accomplishment. But at the first official game, when the few students who watched had also pointed at her as they laughed with their friends, she suddenly felt small and frightened. And then, it got back to her through Ross that they had a nickname for her: Big Fat Goalie. At first it had been whispered, then spoken openly by people watching the games, and soon even her teammates where calling her that, not much caring whether her feelings were hurt or not.

Monica had collapsed inwards, shutting out the rest of the team, determined to do well despite the ridicule. And she had; while she wasn't the best goalkeeper in the league she was all right. What she'd hoped to be a new opportunity to meet people and make friends had instead further isolated her from everyone in high school.

She'd only had one true and good friend during high school. And yet that person, too, had drifted away, feeling that Monica had become a liability, baggage to be dumped on the way to becoming a socialite.

In the end, all she'd had was family. Nana had taken her in, given her a place to stay in the city. Ross, despite being newly married, had maintained contact with her. Other than that, though, there'd been few people she'd truly felt close to.

And then Phoebe had moved in. Smiling, perky, formerly-homeless teenage runaway Phoebe. Phoebe who seemed to have no preconceptions about anything whatsoever. Phoebe who'd determinedly massaged Monica's feet after the breakup with Kip. Phoebe who played the guitar for her friends still on the street, Phoebe who found cuteness in an older man walking around naked in his apartment, Phoebe who would talk about the horror of her homeless existence in a breezy, amused fashion, Phoebe who had fiercely defended her against Kip.

And yet, even as Monica was allowing Phoebe deeper and deeper into her life, Phoebe had been pulling further and further away. Furtively smuggling things out of her apartment, distancing herself, breaking away. As had everyone else who had ever known Monica.

An empty bench approached and Monica practically fell on top of it, gasping huge chunks of air. Her whole body was shaking and she was on the verge of throwing up. Monica forced herself to sit up and put her hands on top of her head. And still she couldn't breathe right, still her heart raced and raced.

"I don't live here anymore."

Monica winced. Kip had used her, Bobby wanted to party more than he wanted to be with her, Jason had cared more about a shirt than he'd cared about their relationship, and now even Phoebe despised her.

Her whole body ached, her legs burned fiercely. She remembered asking Dr. Burke about that after her first serious workout, even though he was just an ophthalmologist. He'd gone on to explain about the difference between aerobic and anaerobic exercise, how lactic acid was produced, and how it got flushed out. The lactic acid was actually burning away her muscles, which accounted for the fiery sensation, but he'd assured her that it simply meant the muscles would be rebuilt and would end up being stronger than before.

Monica had liked the sound of that back then. She liked the sound of it now. She got up and walked back towards the apartment, almost consciously feeling her body washing away the hurt.

She turned the corner just in time to see Phoebe carrying two large plastic garbage bags, which appeared to be full of her clothes. She dumped them into the back seat of a cab, then got into the passenger side of the front seat. The cab drove away, Phoebe not seeing that Monica was a hundred yards away. Probably just as well.

Monica slowly walked up the stairs to the second floor. Steeling herself, she entered the apartment. She was almost surprised to see that Phoebe had removed the beads and replaced the door to her bedroom. The plants were gone and naked sunshine now lit the room through the windows. The room felt larger. Almost cavernous.

Monica trudged into the bathroom and stripped off her clothes, which were positively soaked with sweat. She turned on the shower and stood under it, letting the water flow over her. Monica picked up the soap and washcloth and began fiercely scrubbing herself.

Suddenly she doubled over. She crouched in the tub, unable to breathe. Hot water was spilling down her face and she wasn't entirely certain it was all coming from the shower. Monica closed her eyes, drew in a deep shuddering breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob, and mentally berated herself for being so weak and stupid.

Through sheer force of will she straightened and resumed cleaning herself. She washed her face over and over again until the salt water was gone.

Monica stepped out of the shower, dried herself off, wrapped herself in a towel. Suddenly all she felt was tired. Listlessly she left the bathroom and wandered towards her bedroom.

The door opened behind her and a voice called out, "Hey, got any beers? We're out of beer."

Monica turned. Stand there, looking exceptionally casual, was Chandler. And with an overwhelming force that almost frightened her, she was suddenly very glad to see him. Here, here was one person, one man, that despite everything that had happened between them, both good and bad, had stuck with her, still hung out with her, still enjoyed being with her.

She gestured towards the refrigerator. "Help yourself."

He didn't move from where he stood in the kitchen. "You okay?"

Monica swallowed. "Phoebe moved out."

Chandler nodded, unsurprised, and Monica found herself wondering if his bursting into the apartment right after she stepped out of the shower had been a coincidence at all.

The words came out before she could stop them. "I don't understand. Am I so hard to live with? Is that why I don't have a boyfriend?"

"No!" Chandler sounded honestly surprised by the question. "You don't have a boyfriend because..." He trailed off, then grimaced. "I don't know why you don't have a boyfriend. You should have a boyfriend."

Her eyes began to burn. "Well, I think so."

Sudden determination settled over Chandler's features. "Come here." He stepped up and hugged her, and Monica found herself returning the hug, clinging to him.

"Listen." Chandler spoke almost directly into Monica's ear. "You are one of my favorite people and the most beautiful person I know in real life."

Monica made a sound halfway between a sigh and a moan and tightened her hold on him, her head turned to one side and her cheek buried in his shoulder. Chandler had this uncanny knack for saying either exactly the wrong thing or exactly the right thing. This time he'd said just the words she'd needed to hear and she was intensely grateful for that.

They held each other, seconds stretching on to minutes, and Monica found herself growing more and more relaxed. Chandler seemed to know that for once he should keep his mouth shut. He knew her, understood her, and - even more amazingly - liked her. So few people seemed to.

And then the thought occurred to her. Maybe she could have a boyfriend after all. Maybe a boyfriend was hugging her at this very moment. Only now did Monica realize how un-self-conscious she was being around him dressed only in a towel. She wondered how she'd react if he bent down to kiss her.

But he never would. That was one of the things Monica didn't actually care for too much about Chandler. He was incredibly wimpy. And yet he hadn't been hesitant at all to openly mock her the first time they'd met all those Thanksgivings ago. The "fat sister" comment still stuck with her, still made her wonder how much cruelty he kept hidden behind his façade of jokes.

But still... she'd changed so much since then, and not just physically. Perhaps Chandler had changed as well. Perhaps it was time to move past all that, just as Chandler had suggested while they were eating cookies together way back when he'd first moved across the hall.

But... but... but...

Endless arguments and counter-arguments flooded Monica's brain while she stood there holding Chandler. In the end, she remembered Joey explaining to Chandler why he wasn't going after Phoebe: he feared ruining his friendship with her. Right here, right now, Monica needed Chandler's friendship more than she needed his love. Perhaps that would change, perhaps in time she'd feel more secure and trust the people around her. For now, she just couldn't risk losing the one man besides her brother she had come to depend on.

Chandler stirred slightly. "This feels nice."

"Yes, it does." Monica found a smile growing on her lips, because she was absolutely certain what was coming next.

His hand began to rub her towel. "Is this one hundred percent cotton?"

Monica silently laughed. Chandler deflecting emotional moments with a joke was utterly predictable. And, somehow, endearing. She released the hug but still stood close to him. "Yeah. I got it on sale."

"Well, I should let you get dressed."

Monica was pleased that Chandler kept his eyes strictly on her face. "If you want, later we can go get a drink."

"Sounds great." Chandler hesitated, floundering for words. "Listen, it's, it's going to be..."

Monica spared him the effort. "I know." She smiled. "Thanks."

Chandler nodded. For a fleeting second, Monica thought he really was going to lean down and kiss her. Or maybe she thought she was going to reach up and kiss him.

But the second passed, and Monica turned away as Chandler left the apartment. She felt at once relieved and disappointed that nothing more had happened.

Monica pushed aside the insistent thought of how pleasant his chest had felt pressed against hers and put on some clothes, ready once again to face the world, basking in the knowledge that the city contained people like Chandler.

* * *

(to be continued) 

Author's Notes: This is the last of the restaging of the events of "TOW the Flashback". We still have about a year to cover in Monica's pre-Friends existence. You can probably guess what that will mostly consist of.


	35. Monica and Vegetable Pate

When Monica woke up, she had a feeling that something was wrong and that she didn't want to know what it was. She stared at the ceiling, trying somehow to keep herself from remembering. But, despite her best efforts, Monica realized she was alone, that Phoebe had moved out. 

Her chest tightened with the realization, and Monica forced herself into motion. She got out of bed, put a bathrobe on over her pajamas, her mind already racing with thoughts of work. The restaurant was pushing turkey burgers for some odd reason, making them the lunchtime special, and Monica would be in charge of getting the patties ready for the hoped-for rush. That meant grinding a lot of turkey as soon as she got in.

Feeling more in control, she opened the bedroom door and blinked. Chandler and Joey were sitting at the kitchen table, reading the paper and drinking coffee. While they had a standing invitation to come over and fix themselves food, Chandler usually fixed breakfast in his own apartment, and Joey rarely got up before noon. Seeing both of them for breakfast was almost unprecedented.

They were affecting not to notice her. Monica studied them for a moment before offering, "Morning."

"Hey." Joey looked up and smiled his charming smile. "You feeling all right?"

Chandler sighed and looked at Joey. "Subtle, remember? We were going for subtle."

"Oh yeah. So, Mon, what you fixing us for breakfast?"

Chandler shook his head. "Subtle does not mean treating her like your servant."

"Hey, she likes to cook, what's wrong with asking her to do stuff she likes?"

"And that's your entire motivation, is it?"

"Well, if what she likes means I get a decent omelet out of the deal, then everyone wins."

"How altruistic of you. I guess you're just lucky she's not a proctologist."

Monica grinned. "I don't mind fixing omelets. Just give me a minute."

She fixed breakfast as Joey and Chandler continued trading good-natured insults. Chandler was better at it, of course, but Joey was doing surprisingly well in rebuttal. Monica considered him for a moment as she whipped the eggs. It had been a few months and she just couldn't get a handle on him. He had obviously not done well at school; he said an awful lot of dumb things. But she wasn't certain whether that was because he simply didn't care. He spoke well, and Monica had always equated a good sense of humor with intelligence, and Joey could be hilarious at times.

The omelets were soon ready and being eaten with gusto. Monica separated the yolks from two eggs and made an omelet for herself as well, somewhat of a rarity as she wasn't much a fan of big breakfasts.

Chandler, meanwhile, was looking at the headlines. "So, our new President gave a speech on the economy."

"Oh?" Monica usually didn't keep up much of an interest in politics. "And?"

Chandler made a pretense of reading the article carefully. "Apparently we have one."

"No, no," Joey said sternly. "It was all about NASA."

Frowning, Chandler looked at the paper again. "NAFTA?"

"Er, yeah, that too. Evidently we're going to eliminate sheriffs-"

"Tariffs."

"-between us, Canada, and New Mexico."

"Because cheap labor from Albuquerque has been killing our trade."

"Right." Joey looked uncertain for a minute, then shrugged slightly. "So, Mon, I had a date tonight with this total babe named Bitsy but she had to postpone for Friday. Wanna head out and do something instead? Maybe hit a movie?"

Monica had been sharing an amused smile with Chandler but now pointed it at Joey. "That's sweet, but Ross is coming over for dinner. Why don't you and Chandler join us? Maybe we could play a game or something afterwards."

Joey and Chandler looked at each other, confirming Monica's suspicion that Bitsy had not been the one to postpone the date with Joey. "Sure, sounds great," he said after a second. "Rehearsal will be done at six if that's not too late."

"Not at all." Monica stood up and began clearing the table. "Fold up your napkin before you put it on your plate, Chandler, I don't want you spilling crumbs on the floor."

"Righty-o." Chandler rose with a heavy sigh. "Joe, wanna switch jobs for a day? One of us will have to act like a wooden automaton struggling to find a way to become human, and the other will be appearing in a children's play called Pinnochio."

"Ha. I can't today, it's all this dancing stuff, it's complicated. You can maybe help me practice later."

"It will be the highlight of my day, trust me." Chandler led Joey towards the front door."

Monica paused in the act of picking up their plates. "Hey, guys."

They stopped and looked over at her.

She smiled. "Thanks."

Joey grinned and Chandler nodded, then they left.

Monica continued cleaning up, and already felt a vacuum forming. The guys had done her a favor by showing up, but they couldn't stay forever. Monica stood in the kitchen after finishing the dishes, staring out at the living room, feeling the emptiness intensely. A dull ache knotted the pit of her stomach despite breakfast, a blackness that wanted to suck the life right out of her.

She needed brightness. The light and intensity of a toothful smile, of soft blue eyes shining above pretty cheeks.

Monica grabbed the phone. She began dialing numbers written hastily on the back of an envelope. She listened intently as she heard buzzing once, twice, then suddenly a familiar voice was saying, "Hello?"

"Phoebe!" Monica felt a foolish grin as the pain in her stomach lessened. "You all moved in?"

"Monica, hi! Yes, mostly, the room is narrow, it's small, smaller than the room I had there, so I have to twist everything around, but it's full of my grandmother's aura so it doesn't mind, it's making me so welcome."

The grin widened. A typical Phoebe response. "Good. So, anyway, everyone's coming to dinner tonight, a little after six when Joey's audition is done. Why don't you come on over?"

"Oh." Phoebe's voice went flat. "I, I can't tonight, me, my grandmother is taking me out."

The pain in her stomach suddenly became more intense. "I understand, it's your first night with her. How about tomorrow night?"

"I, that, that's Friday, I have kind of a date."

"Oh yeah, Joey probably will too. What about lunch on Saturday?"

"I, I have work then, Mrs. Atherton made a special appointment, her daughter is getting married Sunday and she wants her aura to be as clear as possible."

Monica grimaced. "Sunday night, then. We can all watch Simpsons together so we can understand Chandler's jokes on Monday."

Silence greeted this. Monica frowned, wondering if she'd lost the connection until she heard the sound of Phoebe moving the phone from one ear to the other. It was something Phoebe did often, as she had never fully readjusted to using phones after a several-year absence and had often expressed dismay at being unable to see people as she talked to them.

Monica could appreciate that. Right now she'd give anything to see the expression on Phoebe's face.

"All right." The sound was so loud and abrupt that Monica almost dropped the phone. "All right, I'll come over tonight. Just for dinner."

"Oh? What about your grandmother?"

"We'll do it some other time, I think she might have to work tonight anyway."

"Great." The smile found its way back to Monica's lips. "So, dinner at sixish like I said, but come over any time you like."

"Okay." Phoebe sounded a little more relaxed. "Buh-bye then."

"Bye Pheebs."

Monica gently hung up the phone, feeling a lot more mellow. She began getting ready for work, already planning the meal she'd make for Phoebe tonight.

* * *

Carefully Monica arranged the crackers on the plate around the central dish. It looked uniform and orderly when she was done, and she took a step back, admiring her handiwork. It was almost a shame that people would be eating this.

Almost on cue, the door opened behind her. "Hey Mon."

"Hey Ross." She took a moment to try and gauge her brother's mood, and decided he was more-or-less normal. "Dinner probably won't be for half an hour or so, but I made an appetizer."

Ross hung up his coat and stepped up beside her. "What is it? Pâté?"

"Yup. Use the little plates."

"Or risk certain death, I know, I know." Ross picked up a plate, destroyed the pattern of crackers by selecting two, and spread a generous portion of pâté over both of them. Monica closely monitored the process, then judged that Ross was taking sufficient care. She went back to dinner preparations.

Ross was strolling around the apartment. "What happened to the couch?"

"Phoebe took one of the cushions to be cleaned."

"Oh. Gosh, the window looks empty without the plants."

"You never thought so before in all the years it didn't have plants."

"Well, that was because we were distracted by Ugly Naked Man. Whom, I might add, seems to have gotten a cat."

"I hope for his sake he's gotten it declawed."

Ross laughed. "You seem to be taking this well."

Monica paused in the process of putting a handful of asparagus into the steamer. "I... it's too soon to tell. Ask me in a week."

Ross nodded and, thankfully, didn't press the matter. "Are you planning on getting another roommate?"

"No!" Monica blinked at herself; that had come out more strongly than she'd intended. "Not right now, and maybe not for a while. I, I just want to be by myself."

"Hmm." Ross put his now-empty plate on the coffee table. "Can you afford that?"

"I... yeah, I have a little reserve built up, and I can volunteer for more days. They're actually a little short-staffed at the moment."

"Remember how much that wore you out last time."

"Well, last time I wasn't making as much as I am now. I can probably do it working six days a week. And I work the lunch shift now, so it's not like I'll be working odd hours."

"Well, if you're sure," Ross said dubiously. "Let me know if I can kick in a little help."

"That won't be necessary," Monica replied firmly. "I can manage."

"I've never doubted that, Mon."

She was spared the necessity of a reply by the arrival of Chandler and, surprisingly, Joey. Monica raised her eyebrows. "I thought you had rehearsal until six, Joey."

"Well, the dancing didn't go so well, so they ended it early so they could rework some of the stuff." Joey wandered over to the kitchen table. "What's this? Cream cheese?"

"In part, yeah. Try it." Monica turned up the temperature on the asparagus; dinner was going to be sooner than expected.

"Hey, this is good." Joey grinned his appreciation as he prepared a second helping. "You gotta try this, Chandler."

"No thanks." Chandler had also taken a stroll around the apartment - it was as if everyone needed to reacquaint themselves with the place - and now sat at the kitchen table. "I'm not much of a liver fan."

"Liver?" Joey made a face. "I'm eating liver?"

"It's good for you. I thought you said you liked it."

"Well... I did." Joey seemed to be flailing for a reply. "I mean, before I found it was made of icky stuff."

"Oh?" Chandler looked up at Joey. "Are you aware exactly what a hot dog is made of?"

Joey frowned. "Okay, okay, I'll eat this if you promise to never tell me."

Chandler chuckled. "Deal."

The door flew open. "Hello everyone!"

"Hi Pheebs." Monica felt a surge of joy at seeing Phoebe walk in, guitar strapped over one shoulder, her very large purse strapped over the other, a little frizzy at the end of a long day but still cheerful. For some reason Monica had never fully appreciated how much she enjoyed seeing Phoebe like that before. "Dinner will be ready soon."

"Hi Mon, Hi Chandler, ooh, what are you eating Joey?" Phoebe walked up, took the pâté-covered cracker from Joey's plate and, before Monica could react, took a big bite. "Ooh, this is nummy. What is it?"

Monica froze. She wanted Phoebe to feel comfortable in this, her first visit back to the apartment after moving out. And letting her know that she'd just unknowingly eaten goose liver was not a good start. "It's, it's a vegetable paste."

Joey looked puzzled. He opened his mouth to say something just as Chandler practically shouted, "So, Pheebs, play us something on your guitar. It's been ages."

"Hmm?" Phoebe finished her cracker as she regarded Chandler. Joey, thankfully, had enough sense to close his mouth. "You sure?"

"Of course I am!"

"You won't make any funny faces?"

"Not, not any funnier than usual."

"Okay, then." Phoebe set down her guitar and purse and took off her coat. "After dinner. Smells good, Monica."

"Thanks. Everyone sit and we'll get started." Monica shared a grateful look with Chandler. He could be remarkably gifted when the occasion warranted.

Dinner was quick and pleasant, with everyone asking about Phoebe's new living arrangements. At first she was cautious in replying, but Monica kept up a cheerful mien and soon Phoebe's enthusiasm shone through as she blathered on about how neat her grandmother was.

Monica cleaned up after dinner as everyone else moved to the living room. Chandler suggested Pictionary and everyone agreed. Ross immediately suggested boys versus girls, which Phoebe accepted with enthusiasm. Monica appreciated what Ross was trying to do but had her own reservations; Phoebe often drew very esoteric images that were often difficult to decipher. Of them all, Joey had the best drawing skills.

The game proceeded. Monica and Phoebe got off to a strong start but stalled when Phoebe drew a picture of a smiling woman for "Sistine Chapel" - her logic being that the smiling woman was the Mona Lisa which was in the Louvre which also housed works of art by the guy who painted the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Monica thinned her lips but was able to refrain from saying anything too snide. Eventually Chandler and Joey pulled ahead and won easily, to Monica's annoyance. Next time she'd suggest that Ross be on her team as well to offset the handicap of Phoebe.

While Monica put the game away, Phoebe wandered over to the bay window. "I wonder if Ugly Naked Guy ever has friends over to play games?"

"Dunno; he seems content to just sit there and watch television." Joey sidled up next to Phoebe, looking out the window. He winced. "Man, how could stand living across from that? I'd paint my windows black."

"Aw, c'mon, it's cute." Phoebe grinned. "He likes being naked and he doesn't care if anyone else knows it. You should try it some time."

"Hey, I tried it once already in this apartment and that was enough." Joey shuddered.

Monica flashed him a grin. "Trust me, you have nothing to be ashamed about."

Chandler groaned. "Oh man, now I have something new to feel inadequate about."

"Oh, don't." Phoebe bounced over to him, patted him on the top of his head. "You're sweet, and that's more important than anything else."

"Sweet? Sweet? I just don't see that working." He walked over to Monica, held out his hand, and spoke in a deep tone of voice. "Hi, I'm Chandler, I'm sweeter than sugar. Want a taste?"

Monica chuckled. "She said you were sweet. She didn't say you were attractive."

"Oh!" Chandler touched his lips with his fingertips and then stared at them. "Am I bleeding? Monica tagged me good."

"Man, I keep telling you." Joey came up, punched Chandler lightly on the shoulder. "You could get all the women you wanted if only you took a few lessons from the Joey School of Charm."

"Thanks, but I prefer the Chandler School of Witty Repartee."

"That been working for you?"

"It might have if I hadn't dropped out after the first week."

Monica shook her head. "Stop it. You'll find someone, Chandler, don't worry."

Chandler gave her a half-smile. "You promise?"

"I guarantee it. If you'd just stop feeling sorry for yourself."

"Oh, but I do so enjoy wallowing in self-pity. Still, you may have a point." Chandler glanced at his watch. "Gotta get to bed, early-morning staff meeting tomorrow. I need to be well-rested so that I can yawn throughout the meeting without opening my mouth."

Joey blinked. "Is that possible?"

"Absolutely. I've had long practice at it, trust me."

"I, I should get back, too." Phoebe walked over to the counter by the front door and began digging through her purse. "I, I, I wanted to give these back to you, Monica." She turned around with her hand held out.

Monica glanced down, saw two keys in Phoebe's palm. "Oh no, you keep them."

"But, but I don't-"

"For whenever you come over, so we don't have to buzz you in, or if you want to just hang out when I'm not here." Monica smiled. "Ross has a set of keys, why shouldn't you?"

Phoebe looked at Monica, then down at the keys in her hand, her expression blank.

Monica plunged ahead. "I mean, you're still coming over Sunday, right? You'll need the keys then."

A kind of half-smile formed on Phoebe's face. Phoebe had all sorts of smiles, but this was the first time Monica had seen this one. It was a kind of introverted smile, as if she was smiling to herself.

After a few seconds, Phoebe lifted her head and her smile widened. "I guess I will need them, won't I?"

Monica nodded firmly, relief percolating through her. "That's settled then. See you Sunday."

"Okay." Phoebe put the keys back in her purse, then unexpectedly reached over and hugged Monica. She released the hug quickly, grabbed her guitar and coat, and left the apartment.

Joey and Chandler also took off, leaving Monica once again alone with Ross. He put on his coat but looked at Monica. "You did that well."

She looked back at him. "Did what well?"

Ross smiled slightly. "As you like. See you later."

Monica smiled back, glad for his discretion. "See you."

Ross left, and Monica looked out over the apartment. The last of the depression over Phoebe's moving out left her. The apartment no longer felt empty; it was just waiting for everyone to come back.

Humming to herself, Monica prepared for bed.

* * *

(to be continued) 


End file.
